The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About
the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas
for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.

All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by BookRags, Inc.

Page 1

CHAPTER I.

The sun sometimes shone brightly upon the little round
panes of the ancient building, the Golden Cross, on
the northern side of the square, which the people
of Ratisbon call “on the moor”; sometimes
it was veiled by gray clouds. A party of nobles,
ecclesiastics, and knights belonging to the Emperor’s
train were just coming out. The spring breeze
banged behind them the door of the little entrance
for pedestrians close beside the large main gateway.

The courtiers and ladies who were in the chapel at
the right of the corridor started. “April
weather!” growled the corporal of the Imperial
Halberdiers to the comrade with whom he was keeping;
guard at the foot of the staircase leading to the
apartments of Charles V, in the second story of the
huge old house.

“St. Peter’s day,” replied the other,
a Catalonian. “At my home fresh strawberries
are now growing in the open air and roses are blooming
in the gardens. Take it all in all, it’s
better to be dead in Barcelona than alive in this
accursed land of heretics!”

“Come, come,” replied the other, “life
is life! ’A live dog is better than a dead
king,’ says a proverb in my country.”

“And it is right, too,” replied the Spaniard.
“But ever since we came here our master’s
face looks as if imperial life didn’t taste exactly
like mulled wine, either.”

The Netherlander lowered his halberd and answered
his companion’s words first with a heavy sigh,
and then with the remark: “Bad weather upstairs
as well as down—­the very worst! I’ve
been in the service thirteen years, but I never saw
him like this, not even after the defeat in Algiers.
That means we must keep a good lookout. Present
halberds! Some one is coming down.”

Both quickly assumed a more erect attitude, but the
Spaniard whispered to his comrade: “It
isn’t he. His step hasn’t sounded
like that since the gout—­”

“Quijada!” whispered the Netherlander,
and both he and the man from Barcelona presented halberds
with true military bearing; but the staves of their
descending weapons soon struck the flags of the pavement
again, for a woman’s voice had detained the
man whom the soldiers intended to salute, and in his
place two slender lads rushed down the steps.

The yellow velvet garments, with ash-gray facings,
and cap of the same material in the same colours,
were very becoming to these youths—­the
Emperor’s pages—­and, though the first
two were sons of German and Italian counts, and the
third who followed them was a Holland baron, the sentinels
took little more notice of them than of Queen Mary’s
pointers following swiftly at their heels.

“Of those up there,” observed the halberdier
from Haarlem under his breath, “a man would
most willingly stiffen his back for Quijada.”

“Except their Majesties, of course,” added
the Catalonian with dignity.

“Of course,” the other repeated.
“Besides, the Emperor Charles himself bestows
every honour on Don Luis. I was in Algiers at
the time. A hundred more like him would have
made matters different, I can tell you. If it
beseemed an insignificant fellow like me, I should
like to ask why his Majesty took him from the army
and placed him among the courtiers.”

Page 2

Here he stopped abruptly, for, in spite of the gaily
dressed nobles and ladies, priests, knights, and attendants
who were passing up and down the corridor, he had
heard footsteps on the stairs which must be those of
men in high position. He was not mistaken—­one
was no less a personage than the younger Granvelle,
the Bishop of Arras, who, notwithstanding his nine-and-twenty
years, was already the favourite counsellor of Charles
V; the other, a man considerably his senior, Dr. Mathys,
of Bruges, the Emperor’s physician.

The bishop was followed by a secretary clad in black,
with a portfolio under his arm; the leech, by an elderly
assistant.

The fine features of the Bishop of Arras, which revealed
a nature capable of laughter and enjoyment, now looked
as grave as his companion’s—­a fact
which by no means escaped the notice of the courtiers
in the corridor, but no one ventured to approach them
with a question, although—­it had begun
to rain again—­they stopped before going
out of doors and stood talking together in low tones.

Many would gladly have caught part of their conversation,
but no one dared to move nearer, and the Southerners
and Germans among them did not understand the Flemish
which they spoke.

Not until after the leech had raised his tall, pointed
hat and the statesman had pressed his prelate’s
cap closer upon his short, wavy dark hair and drawn
his sable-trimmed velvet cloak around him did several
courtiers hasten forward with officious zeal to open
the little side door for them.

Something must be going wrong upstairs.

Dr. Mathys’s jovial face wore a very different
expression when his imperial patient was doing well,
and Granvelle always bestowed a friendly nod on one
and another if he himself had cause to be content.

When the door had closed behind the pair, the tongues
of the ecclesiastics, the secular lords, and the ladies
in the corridor were again loosed; but there were
no loud discussions in the various languages now mingling
in the Golden Cross, far less was a gay exclamation
or a peal of laughter heard from any of the groups
who stood waiting for the shower to cease.

Although each individual was concerned about his own
affairs, one thought, nevertheless, ruled them all—­the
Emperor Charles, his health, and his decisions.
Upon them depended not only the destiny of the world,
but also the weal and woe of the greatest as well as
the humblest of those assembled here.

“Emperor Charles” was the spell by which
the inhabitants of half the world obtained prosperity
or ill-luck, war or peace, fulfilment or denial of
the wishes which most deeply stirred their souls.
Even the highest in the land, who expected from his
justice or favour fresh good-fortune or the averting
of impending disasters, found their way to him wherever,
on his long and numerous journeys, he established
his court.

Page 3

Numerous petitioners had also flocked to Ratisbon,
but the two great nobles who now entered the Golden
Cross certainly did not belong to their number.
One shook the raindrops from his richly embroidered
velvet cloak and the plumes in his cap, the other
from his steel helmet and suit of Milan mail, inlaid
with gold. Chamberlain de Praet accosted the former,
Duke Peter of Columna, in Italian; the latter, the
Landgrave of Leuchtenberg, in a mixture of German
and his Flemish native tongue. He had no occasion
to say much, for the Emperor wished to be alone.
He had ordered even crowned heads and ambassadors
to be denied admittance.

The Duke of Columna gaily begged for a dry shelter
until the shower was over, but the Landgrave requested
to be announced to the Queen of Hungary.

The latter, however, had also declined to grant any
audiences that afternoon. The royal lady, the
Emperor’s favourite sister, was in her own room,
adjoining her imperial brother’s, talking with
Don Luis Quijada, the brave nobleman of whom the Spanish
and the Netherland soldiers had spoken with equal
warmth.

His personal appearance rendered it an easy matter
to believe in the sincerity of their words, for the
carriage of his slender, vigorous form revealed all
the pride of the Castilian noble. His face, with
its closely cut pointed beard, was the countenance
of a true warrior, and the expression of his black
eyes showed the valiant spirit of a loyal, kind, and
simple heart.

The warm confidence with which Mary, the widow of
the King of Hungary, who fell in the Turkish war,
gazed into Quijada’s finely modelled, slightly
bronzed countenance proved that she knew how to estimate
his worth aright. She had sent for him to open
her whole heart.

The vivacious woman, a passionate lover of the chase,
found life in Ratisbon unendurable. She would
have left the city long ago to perform her duties
in the Netherlands—­which she ruled as regent
in the name of her imperial brother—­and
devote herself to hunting, to her heart’s content,
if the condition of the monarch’s health had
not detained her near him.

She pitied Charles because she loved him, yet she
was weary of playing the sick nurse.

She had just indignantly informed Quijada what an
immense burden of work, in spite of the pangs of the
gout, her suffering brother had imposed upon himself
ever since the first cock-crow. But he would take
no better care of himself, and therefore it was difficult
to help him. Was it not utterly unprecedented?
Directly after mass he had examined dozens of papers,
made notes on the margins, and affixed his signature;
then he received Father Pedro de Soto, his confessor,
the nuncio, the English and the Venetian ambassadors;
and, lastly, had an interview with young Granvelle,
the Bishop of Arras, which had continued three full
hours, and perhaps might be going on still had not
Dr. Mathys, the leech, put an end to it.

Page 4

Queen Mary had just found him utterly exhausted, with
his face buried in his hands.

“And you, too,” she added in conclusion,
“can not help admitting that if this state of
things continues there must be an evil end.”

Quijada bent his head in assent, and then answered
modestly:

“Yet your Majesty knows our royal master’s
nature. He will listen calmly to you, whom he
loves, or to me, who was permitted to remain at his
side as a page, or probably to the two Granvelles,
Malfalconnet, and others whom he trusts, when they
venture to warn him—­”

“And yet keep on in his mad career,” interrupted
Queen Mary with an angry gesture of the hand.

“Plus ultra—­more, farther—­is
his motto,” observed Quijada in a tone of justification.

“Forward ceaselessly, for aught I care, so long
as the stomach and the feet are sound!” replied
the Queen, raising her hand to the high lace ruff,
which oppressed the breathing of one so accustomed
to the outdoor air. “But when, like him,
a man must give up deer-stalking and at every movement
makes a wry face and can scarcely repress a groan—­it
might move a stone to pity!—­he ought to
choose another motto. Persuade him to do so,
Quijada, if you are really his friend.”

The smile with which the nobleman listened to this
request plainly showed the futility of the demand.

The Queen noticed it, threw her arm aloft as if she
were hurling a hunting spear, and exclaimed “I’m
not easily deceived, Luis. Whether you could
or not, the will is lacking. You shun the attempt!
Because you are young yourself, and can still cope
with the bear and wild boar, you like the motto, which
will probably lead to new wars, and thereby to fresh
renown. But, alas! my poor, poor brother, who—­how
long ago it is!—­could once have thrown
even you upon the sand, what can he do, with this
accursed gout? And besides, what more can the
Emperor Charles gain, since there is no chance of
obtaining the sovereignty of the world, of which he
once dreamed? He must learn to be content!
Surely at his age! It is easy to calculate, for
his life began with the century, and this is its forty-sixth
year. Of course, with you soldiers the years of
warfare count double, and he—­Duke Alba
said so—­was born a general. One need
not be able to reckon far in order to number how many
months he has spent in complete peace. And then
he attained his majority at fifteen, and with what
weighty cares the man of the ‘plus ultra’
has loaded his shoulders since that time! You,
and many others at the court, had still more to do,
but, Luis, one thing, and it is the hardest burden,
you were all spared. I know it. It is called
responsibility. Compared with this all others
are mere fluttering feathers. Its weight may
become unendurable when the weal and woe of half the
world are at stake. Thus every year of government
was equal to three of war; but you, Luis—­the
question is allowable when put to a man-how old are
you?”

Page 5

“Within a few months of forty.”

“So young!” cried the Queen. “Yet,
when one looks at you closely, your appearance corresponds
with your years.”

Quijada pointed to the gray locks on his temples,
but the Queen eagerly continued:

I noticed that at Brussels. And do you know what
gave you those few white hairs? Simply the responsibility
that so cruelly shortened the Emperor’s youth,
and which at least grazes you. As I saw him to-day,
Luis, many a man of sixty has a more vigorous appearance.”

“And yet, if your Majesty will permit me to
say so,” Quijada replied with a low bow, “he
may be in a very different condition to-morrow.
I heard Dr. Mathys himself remark that the life of
a gouty patient was like a showery day in July—­gloomy
enough while the thunder-storm was raging, but radiant
before and afterward until the clouds rose again.
Surely your Majesty remembers how erect, how vigorous,
and how knightly his bearing was when he greeted you
on your arrival. The happiness of having his
beloved sister again restored his paralyzed buoyancy
speedily enough, although just at present there is
certainly no lack of cares pressing upon him, and
notwithstanding the disastrous conditions which we
found existing among the godless populace here.
That this cruel responsibility, however, can mature
the mind without harming the body your Majesty is a
living example.”

As she spoke she pointed with the riding whip, which,
on account of her four-footed favourites, she carried
in her hand, to her own hair. True, so far as
it was visible under the stiff jewelled velvet cap
which covered her head, the fair tresses had a lustrous
sheen, and the braids, interwoven with pearls, were
unusually thick, but a few silver threads appeared
amid the locks which clustered around the intellectual
brow.

Quijada saw them, and, with a respectful bow, answered.

“The heavy burden of anxiety for the Netherlands,
which is not always rewarded with fitting gratitude.”

“Oh, no,” replied the Queen, shrugging
her shoulders contemptuously. “Yes, many
things in Brussels rouse my indignation, but they do
not turn my hair gray. It began to whiten up
here, under the widow’s cap, if you care to
know it, and, if the Emperor’s health does not
improve, the locks there will soon look like my white
Diana’s.”

Here she hesitated, and, accustomed both in the discharge
of the duties of her office and during the chase not
to deviate too far from the goal she had in view,
she first gave her favourite dog, which had leaped
on Don Luis in friendly greeting, a blow with her
whip, and then said in a totally different tone:

“But I am not the person in question. You
have already heard that you must help me, Luis.
Did you see the Emperor yesterday after vespers?”

“I had the honour, your Majesty.”

Page 6

“And did not the conviction that he is in evil
case force itself upon you?”

“I felt it so keenly that I spoke to Dr. Mathys
of his feeble appearance, his bowed figure, and the
other things which I would so gladly have seen otherwise.”

“And these things? Speak frankly!”

“These things,” replied the major-domo,
after a brief hesitation, “are the melancholy
moods to which his Majesty often resigns himself for
hours.”

“And which remind you of Queen Juana, our unhappy
mother?” asked the Queen with downcast eyes.

“Remind is a word which your Majesty will permit
me to disclaim,” replied Quijada resolutely.
“The great thinker, who never loses sight of
the most distant goal, who weighs and considers again
and again ere he determines upon the only right course
in each instance—­the great general who
understands how to make far-reaching plans for military
campaigns as ably as to direct a cavalry attack—­the
statesman whose penetration pierces deeper than the
keen intelligence of his famous councillors—­the
wise law-giver, the ruler with the iron strength of
will and unfailing memory, is perhaps the soundest
person mentally among all of us at court-nay, among
the millions who obey him. But, so far as my small
share of knowledge extends, melancholy has nothing
to do with the mind. It is dependent upon the
state of the spirits, and springs from bile——­”

“You learned that from Dr. Mathys,” interrupted
the royal lady, “and the quacks repeat it from
their masters Hippocrates and Galen. Such parrot
gabble does not please me. To my woman’s
reason, it seems rather that when the mind is ill
we should try a remedy whose effect upon it has already
been proved, and I think I have found it.”

“I am still ignorant of it,” replied Quijada
eagerly; “but I would swear by my saint that
you have hit upon the right expedient.”

“Listen, then, and this time I believe you will
have no cause to repent your hasty oath. Since
death robbed our sovereign lord of his wife, and the
gout has prevented his enjoyment of the chief pleasures
of life—­hunting, the tournament, and the
other pastimes which people of our rank usually pursue—­in
what can he find diversion? The masterpieces of
painters and other artists, the inventions of mechanicians
and clock-makers, and the works of scholars have no
place here, but probably——­”

“Then it is the noble art of music which your
Majesty has in view,” Quijada eagerly interrupted.
“Admirable! For, since the days of King
Saul and the harper David——­”

“There is certainly no better remedy for melancholy,”
said the Queen, completing the exclamation of the
loyal man. “But it could affect no one
more favourably than the Emperor. You yourself
know how keen a connoisseur he is, and how often this
has been confirmed by our greatest masters. Need
I remind you of the high mass in Cologne, at which
the magnificent singing seemed fairly to reanimate

Page 7

him after the defection of the heretical archbishop—­which
threatens to have a disastrous influence upon my Netherlanders
also—­had robbed him of the last remnant
of his enjoyment of life, already clouded? The
indignation aroused by the German princes, and the
difficult decision to which their conduct is forcing
him, act upon his soul like poison. But hesitation
is not in my nature, so I thought: Let us have
music—­good, genuine music. Then I sent
a mounted messenger to order Gombert, the conductor
of his orchestra, and the director of my choir of
boys, to bring their musicians to Ratisbon. The
whole company will arrive this evening. Dash forward
is my motto, and not only while in the saddle during
the chase. But, Luis, you must now tell me—­”

“That your Majesty’s sisterly affection
has discovered the only right course,” cried
Quijada, deeply touched, pressing his lips respectfully
to the flowing sleeve of her robe.

The major—­domo’s assurance undoubtedly
sprang from the depths of his heart, yet the doubts
which the hasty action of the vivacious sovereign
aroused in his mind compelled him to represent to her,
though with the courteous caution which his position
demanded, that her bold measure might only too easily
arouse the displeasure of the person whom it was intended
to benefit. The expense it would entail especially
troubled Quijada, and the Queen herself appeared surprised
when he estimated the sum which would be required
for the transportation of the band and the boy choir
from Brussels to Ratisbon and back again.

Forty musicians, twelve boy singers, the leaders,
and the paymaster must be moved, and in their train
were numerous grooms and attendants, as well as conveyances
for the baggage and the valuable instruments.

Besides, the question of accommodation for this large
number in the already crowded city now arose, for
the Queen confessed that, in order to make the surprise
complete, no one had been commissioned to find lodgings.

The musicians, who had displayed the most praiseworthy
promptness, would arrive three days earlier than she
had expected.

The royal lady readily admitted that the utmost haste
was necessary. Yet she knew that, if any one
could accomplish the impossible, it was Quijada, where
the object in view was to serve her and the Emperor.

The influence of this eulogy was doubled by a tender
glance from her bright eyes, and the Spaniard promised
to do everything in his power to secure the success
of her beautiful surprise. There would undoubtedly
be difficulties with his Majesty and the treasurer
on the score of the expense, for their finances were
at the very lowest ebb.

Page 8

“There is always the same annoyance where money
is concerned,” cried the Queen irritably, “in
spite of the vast sums which my Netherlands pour into
the treasury—­four times as much as Spain
supplies, including the gold and silver of the New
World. You keep it secret, but two fifths of
the revenue from all the countries over which Charles
reigns are contributed by my provinces. Torrents
of ducats inundate your treasury, and yet—­yet—­it’s
enough to drive one mad!—­in spite of this
and the lamentable parsimony with which the Emperor
deprives himself of both great and small pleasures—­it
is simply absurd!—­the story is always:
The finances are at the lowest ebb—­save
and save again. To protect the plumes in his
new cap from being injured by the rain, the sovereign
of half the world ordered an old hat to be brought,
and waited in the shower until the shabby felt came.
And where are the millions which this excellent economist
saves from his personal expenses? The dragon War
devours them all. True, he has vanquished foes
enough, but the demon of melancholy, that makes even
Dr. Mathys anxious, is far worse than the infidels
before whom you were compelled to retreat in Algiers—­far
more terrible than the Turks and heretics combined.
Yet what are you and the wise treasurer doing?
The idea of lessening the salaries of the physician-in-ordinary
and his colleagues has never entered the heads of
the estimable gentlemen who call themselves his Majesty’s
faithful servants. Very well! Then put the
musicians’ travelling expenses upon the apothecary’s
bill. They have as much right to be there as the
senna leaves. But, if the penny pinchers in the
council of finance refuse to advance the necessary
funds, why—­charge this medicine to my account.
I’ll pay for it, in spite of the numerous leeches
that suck my substance.”

“It certainly will not come to that, your Majesty,”
replied Quijada soothingly. “Our sovereign
lord knows, too, that it beseems him to be less rigid
in saving. Only yesterday he dipped into his purse
deeply enough for another remedy.”

“What was that?” asked the Queen in surprise.

“He paid the debts of my colleague Malfalconnet,
not less than ten thousand ducats.”

“There it is!” exclaimed the regent, striking
her hands sharply together. “The baron
dispels the Emperor’s melancholy by his ready
wit, which often hits the nail on the head, and his
nimble tongue, but my medicine must provide the fitting
mood for Malfalconnet’s dearly bought jests and
witticisms to exert the proper influence.”

“And, moreover,” Quijada added gaily,
“your Majesty will present the completed deed
for the treasurer’s action. But now I most
humbly entreat you to dismiss me. I must inform
the quartermasters at once, and look after the matter
myself if your Majesty’s costly magic pills are
not to be spoiled by this wet April weather.
Besides, many of the musicians are not the strongest
of men.”

Page 9

Bowing as he spoke, he prepared to take leave of the
Queen, but she detained him with the remark:

“Our invitation went to Sir Wolf Hartschwert
also. He is a native of Ratisbon, and can aid
you and the quartermasters in assigning lodgings.”

“A fresh proof of the wise caution of my august
mistress,” replied Quijada. “If your
Majesty will permit, I should like to talk with my
royal patroness about this man shortly. I have
something in my mind concerning him which can not
be easily explained in a few words, especially as
I know that the modest, trustworthy fellow——­”

“If what you have in view is for his benefit,”
the Queen eagerly interrupted, “it is granted
in advance.”

The promise reached Quijada just as he gained the
threshold; ere he crossed it, Queen Mary called to
him again, saying frankly: “I will not
let you go so, Luis! You are an honest man, and
I am ashamed to deceive you. The cure of his
Majesty’s melancholy is my principal object,
it is true, but one half the expense of this medicine
ought to be credited to me; for—­but do
not tell the treasurer—­for it will afford
me relief also. I can endure these rooms no longer.
The forest is putting forth its first green leafage.
The birds are returning. Red deer are plenty in
the woods along the Danube. I must get out of
doors into the open air. As matters are now,
I could not leave his Majesty; but when the band and
the boy choir are at his disposal, they will dispel
his melancholy moods, and I can venture later to leave
him to you and Malfalconnet, whose wit will be freshly
seasoned by the payment of his debts. O Luis!
if only I can get out of doors! Meanwhile, may
music do for my imperial brother what we anticipate!
And one thing more: Take Master Adrian with you.
I released him from attendance upon the Emperor until
midnight. It was no easy matter. When you
have provided the favourites of Apollo with lodgings,
come to me again, however late the hour may be.
Sir Wolf Hartschwert must call early to-morrow morning.
The nuncio brought some new songs from Rome.
The music is too high for my voice, and the knight
understands how to transpose the notes for me better
than even the leader of the choir, Appenzelder.”

CHAPTER II.

The April sun, ere it sank to rest, had won the victory
and kindly dried the garments of the horsemen who
were approaching Ratisbon by the Nuremberg road.

A young man who had ridden forward in advance of the
great train of travellers behind him checked his steed
above the village of Kneiting, just where the highway
descended in many a curve to the valley of the Danube,
and gazed at the landscape whose green spring leafage,
freshened by rain, appeared before him.

Page 10

His heart throbbed faster, and he thought that he
had seen no fairer prospect in all the wide tract
of earth over which he had wandered during the past
five years. Below him were green meadows and fields,
pleasant villages, and the clear, full current of
the Danube, along whose left bank extended a beautifully
formed mountain chain, whose declivity toward the
river presented a rich variety to the eye, for sometimes
it was clothed in budding groves, sometimes displayed
picturesque bare cliffs, and again vineyards in which
labourers were working. From the farthest distance
the steeples of Ratisbon offered the first greeting
to the resting horseman.

What a wealth of memories this pleasant landscape
awoke in the mind of the returning traveller!
How often he had walked through these charming valleys,
climbed these heights, stopped in these villages!
It was difficult for him to turn from this view, but
he let his bay horse have its way when the companion
whom he had left behind overtook him here, and the
animal followed the other’s black Brabant steed,
with which it had long been on familiar terms.
He rode slowly at his friend’s side into the
valley.

Both silently feasted their eyes upon the scene opening
with increasing magnificence before them.

As they reached the village of Winzer, the victorious
sun was approaching the western horizon, and diffused
over it a fan of golden rays. The gray cloud
bank above, which a light breeze was driving before
it, was bordered with golden edges. The young
green foliage, refreshed by the rain, glittered as
richly and magnificently as emerald and chrysoprase,
and the primroses and other early spring flowers, which
had just grown up along the roadside and in the meadows,
shone in brighter colours than in the full light of
noon. The big fresh drops on the leaves and blossoms
sparkled and glittered in the last rays of the sun.

Now Ratisbon also appeared.

The city, with its throng of steeples, was surrounded
by a damp vapour which the reflection of the sun coloured
with a faint, scarcely perceptible roseate hue.
The notes of bells from the twin towers of the cathedral
and the convent of Nieder Munster, from St. Emmeram
on the right, and the church of the Dominicans on
the left, echoed softly in this hour when Nature and
human activity were at rest—­often dying
away in the distance—­to greet the returning
citizen.

Obeying an involuntary impulse, Wolf Hartschwert raised
his hat. Within the shelter of the walls of this
venerable city he had played as a boy, completed his
school and student days, and early felt the first quickened
throbbing of the heart. Here he had first been
permitted to test what knowledge he had won in the
schools of poetry and music.

He had remained in Ratisbon until his twenty-first
year, then he had ventured out into the world, and,
after an absence of five years, he was returning home
again.

But was the stately city before him really his home?

Page 11

When he had just gazed down upon it from the height,
this question had occupied his thoughtful mind.

He had not been born on the shore of this river, but
of the Main. All who had been dearest to him
in Ratisbon—­the good people who had reared
him from his fourth year as their own child, the woman
who gave him birth, and the many others to whom he
was indebted for kindnesses—­were no longer
there.

But why had he not thought first of the mother, who
is usually the centre of the circle of love, and whose
figure precedes every other, now that he was approaching
the place where she rested beneath the turf? He
asked himself the question with a faint feeling of
self-reproach, but he did not confess the true reason.

When the summons to Ratisbon had reached him in Brussels,
he had been joyously ready to obey it—­nay,
he had felt it a great happiness to see again the
beloved place for which he had never ceased to long.
And yet, the nearer he approached it, the more anxiously
his heart throbbed.

When, soon after noonday, the rain drenched him, he
had experienced no discomfort, because such exquisite
sunny visions of the future had hovered before him;
but as the sky cleared they had shrivelled and doubt
of the result of the decision which he was riding to
meet had cast everything else into the shade.

Now the whole city appeared before him, and, as he
looked at the cathedral, whose machicolated tower
permitted the rosy hue of the sky to shine through,
his heart rose again, and he gazed with grateful delight
at the verdant spring attire of his home and the magnificence
with which she greeted him; her returning son.

“Isn’t it beautiful here?” he asked,
suddenly breaking the silence as he turned to Massi,
the violinist, who rode at his side, and then was
secretly grateful to him when, after a curt “Very
pleasant,” he disturbed him with no further
speech.

It was so delightful to listen to the notes of the
bells, so familiar to him, whose pure tones had accompanied
with their charming melody all his wanderings in childhood
and youth. At the same time, the mood in which
the best musical ideas came to him suddenly overpowered
him. A new air, well worth remembering, pressed
itself on him unbidden, and his excited imagination
showed him in its train himself, and by his side, first,
a romping, merry child, and then a girlish figure
in the first budding charm of youth. He thought
he heard her sing, and old, unforgotten notes of songs
swiftly crowded out his own musical creations.

Every tone from the fresh red lips of the lovely fair-haired
girl awakened a new memory. The past lived again,
and, without his volition, transformed the image of
the child of whom he had thought whenever he recalled
his youthful days in Ratisbon into that of a lovely
bride, with the myrtle wreath on her waving hair,
while beside her he beheld himself with the wedding
bouquet on his slashed velvet holiday doublet.

Page 12

He involuntarily seized the saddlebag which contained
the handsomest gift he had bought in Brussels for
the person who had drawn him back to Ratisbon with
a stronger power of attraction than anything else.
If all went well, that very day, perhaps, he might
have the right to call her his own.

These visions of the future aroused so joyous a feeling
in his young soul that Massi, the violinist, read
in his by no means mobile features what was passing
in his mind. His cheery “Well, Sir Knight!”
awakened his ever-courteous colleague and travelling
companion from his dream, and, when the latter started
and turned toward him, Alassi gaily continued:
“To see his home and his family again does, indeed,
make any man glad! The sight of yonder shining
steeples and roofs seems to make your heart laugh,
Sir Wolf, and, by Our Lady, you have good reason to
bestow one or more candles upon her, for, besides
other delightful things, a goodly heritage is awaiting
you in Ratisbon.”

Here he paused, for the sunny radiance vanished simultaneously
from the sky and from his companion’s face.
The violinist, as if in apology, added: “Some
trouble always precedes an inheritance, and who knows
whether, in your case also, rumour did not follow the
evil custom of lying or making a mountain out of a
molehill?”

Wolf Hartschwert slightly shrugged his shoulders and
calmly answered:

“It is all true about the heritage, Massi, and
also the trouble, but it is unpleasant to hear you,
too, call me ‘Sir.’ Let it drop for
the future, if we are to be intimate. To others
I shall, of course, be the knight or cavalier.
You know what the title procures for a man, though
your saying—­

’Knightly
Knightly rank with lack of land
More
care than joy hath at command,’

is but too true. As for the heritage, an old
friend has really named me in his will, but you must
not expect that it is a large bequest. The man
who left it to me was a plain person of moderate property,
and I myself shall not learn until the next few days
what I am to receive in addition to his modest house.”

“The more it is, the more cordially I shall
congratulate you,” cried the violinist, and
then looked back toward the other travellers.

Wolf did the same, and turned his horse. If he
did not urge on the loiterers the gate, which was
closed at nightfall, would need to be opened for them,
for the five troopers who acted as escort had deemed
their duty done when Winzer was reached, and made themselves
comfortable in the excellent tavern there.

The carters had used the lash stoutly, yet it had
been no easy matter to advance rapidly. The rain
had softened the road, and the horses and beasts of
burden were sorely wearied by the long trip from Brussels
to Ratisbon, which had been made in hurried days’
journeys. The train of horsemen and wagons stretched
almost beyond the range of vision, for it comprised
the whole world-renowned orchestra of the Emperor Charles,
and Queen Mary’s boy choir.

Page 13

Only the leaders were absent. Gombert had left
Brussels later than the others, and hastened after
them with post-horses, overtaking them about an hour
before, when he induced Appenzelder, the leader of
the boy choir, to enter his carriage, though the latter
was reluctant to leave the young singers who were
intrusted to his care. As to the other travellers,
the Queen and Don Luis Quijada had made a great mistake
in their calculations—­the number considerably
exceeded a hundred. Neither had thought of the
women and children who accompanied the musicians.

Most of the women were the wives of the members of
the orchestra, who had availed themselves of this
opportunity to see something of the world. Others,
from motives of love or jealousy, would not part from
their husbands. The little children had been
taken because their mothers, who were fond of travelling
and, like their husbands, were natives of all countries,
possessed no relatives in Brussels who would care for
them.

The jealous spouses especially had not joined the
party without cogent reasons, for the mirth in the
first long wagon, covered with a linen tilt, was uproarious
enough.

Wolf and his companion heard shrill laughter and loud
shrieks echoing from its dusky interior.

The younger men and the women who liked journeying
were sitting in motley confusion upon the straw which
covered the bottom of the vehicle, and the boisterous
mirth of the travellers gave ample proof that the huge
jugs of wine carried with them as the Emperor’s
provision for the journey had been freely used.

In the second cart, an immense ark, swaying between
four wheels and drawn by a team of four horses, grave
older artists sat silently opposite to each other,
all more or less exhausted by the continual rocking
motion of the long ride. These men and the other
travellers were joyfully surprised by the news that
the goal of the journey was already at hand. Pressing
their heads together, they gazed out of the open linen
tilt which arched above the first cart or crowded
to the little windows of the coaches to see Ratisbon.

Even the old Neapolitan nurse, who was predicting
future events from a pack of cards, dropped them and
peered out. But the noise in the second tilted
wagon was especially confused, for there the gay shouts
of the boy choir, only half of whom were on horseback,
mingled with the loud talking of the women, the screams
of the babies, and the barking of the dogs.

The groans of two young singers who were seriously
ill were drowned by the din and heeded by no one except
the old drummer’s pitying wife, who sometimes
wiped the perspiration from the sufferers’ brows
or supported their heads.

Other carts, containing the musicians’ instruments,
followed this tilted wagon. Some members of the
orchestra would not part with theirs, and behind the
saddle of many a mounted virtuoso or attendant was
fastened a violin case or a shapeless bag which concealed
some other instrument.

Page 14

A large number of musicians mounted on horses or mules
surrounded the two-wheeled cart in which sat Hernbeize
of Ghent, the treasurer of the orchestra, and his
fat wife. The corpulent couple, squeezed closely
together, silent and out of humour, had taken no notice
of each other or their surrounding since Frau Olympia
had presumed to drag her husband by force out of the
first wagon, where he was paying a visit to a clarionet
player’s pretty young wife.

Whenever Wolf appeared he urged the horsemen and drivers
to greater haste, and thus the musical caravan, with
its unauthorized companions, succeeded in passing
through the gate ere it closed. Beyond it the
travellers were received by Quijada, the imperial valet,
Adrian Dubois, and several quartermasters, who meanwhile
had provided lodgings.

The major-domo greeted the musicians with dignified
condescension, Wolf with familiar friendship.
Master Adrian, the valet, also shook hands cordially
with him and Massi, the “first violin”
of the orchestra. Finally Don Luis rode up to
Wolf and informed him that the Queen of Hungary wished
to speak to him early the next morning, and that he
also had something important to discuss at the earliest
opportunity. Then he listened to the complaints
of the quartermasters.

These men, who performed their duties with great lack
of consideration, had supposed that they had provided
for all the expected arrivals, but, after counting
heads, they discovered that the billets were sufficient
for only half the number. Their attempt to escape
providing for the wives was baffled by the vigorous
interposition of the treasurer and by a positive order
from Quijada.

Of course, under these circumstances they were very
glad to have Sir Wolf Hartschwert return his billet—­the
room in the Crane allotted to him by the valet was
large enough to accommodate half a dozen women.

The nobleman returning to his home had no occasion
to find shelter in a tavern.

Yet, as he wished to remove the traces of the long
ride ere he entered his own house and appeared before
the person for whose sake he had gladly left Brussels,
he asked Massi’s permission to use his room in
the Red Cock for a short time.

Leonhard Leitgeb, the landlord, and his bustling better
half received Wolf as a neighbour’s son and
an old acquaintance. But, after they had shown
him and Massi to the room intended for them and gone
downstairs again, the landlady of the Cock shook her
head, saying:

“He was always a good lad and a clever one,
too, but even if a duke’s coronet should fall
upon the thin locks of the poor knight’s son
I should never take him for a real nobleman.”

“Better let that drop,” replied her husband.
“Besides, the fine fellow is of more consequence
since he had the legacy. If he should come here
for our Kattl, I’ll wager you wouldn’t
keep him waiting.”

“Indeed I wouldn’t,” cried the landlady,
laughing. “But just hear what a racket
those soldiers are making again down below!”

Page 15

Meanwhile Wolf was hurriedly attending to his outer
man.

Massi had stretched himself on the thin cushion which
covered the seat of the wooden bench in the bay-window,
and thrust his feet far out in front of him.

As he watched the Ratisbon knight diligently use the
little hand mirror while arranging his smooth, fair
locks, he straightened himself, saying:

“No offence, Sir Knight, but when I think of
the radiant face with which you gazed down into the
valley of the Danube from the hill where you stopped
before sunset, and now see how zealously you are striving
to adorn your person, it seems to me that there must
be in this good city some one for whom you care more
than for all you left behind in Brussels. At
your age, that is a matter of course, if there is a
woman in the case, as I suppose. I know very
well what I should do if I were in your place.
Longing often urges me back to Spain like a scourge.
I have already told you why I left my dear wife there
in our home. A few more years in the service,
and our savings and the pension together will be enough
to support us there and lay aside a little marriage
dowry for our daughter. When I have what is necessary,
I shall turn my back on the orchestra and the court
of Brussels that very day, dear as music is to me,
and sure as I am that I shall never again find a leader
like our Gombert. You do not yet know with how
sharp a tooth yearning rends the soul of the man whom
Fate condemns to live away from his family. This
place is your home, and dearer to you than any other,
so build yourself a snug nest here with the person
you have in mind.”

“How gladly I would do so!” replied the
young knight, “but whether I can must be decided
within the next few davs.”

“Inde-e-ed?” drawled Massi; then he bent
his eyes thoughtfully upon the floor for a short time,
and, after calling Wolf by name in a tone of genuine
friendly affection, he frankly added: “Surely
you know how dear a comrade you are to me! Yet
precisely for that reason I stick to my counsel.
It’s not only on account of the homesickness—­I
am, thinking rather of your position at court—­and,
let me speak candidly, it is unworthy of a nobleman
and a musician of such ability. The regent is
graciously disposed toward you, and you praise her
liberality, but do you yourself know the name of the
office which you fill? More than enough is placed
upon you, and yet, so far as I see, nothing complete.
They understand admirably how to make use of you.
It would be well if that applied solely to the musician.
But sometimes she makes you secretary, and you have
to waste whole days in writing letters and do penance
for having learned so many languages; sometimes you
must share in the folly of arranging performances,
and your wealth of knowledge is industriously utilized
in preparing mythological figures and devising new
ideas for the exhibitions at which we have to furnish
the music. This affords plenty of labour, but

Page 16

others reap the credit. Recently the Bishop of
Arras even asked you to write in German what he dictated
in French, although you are in the regent’s
service, and just at that time you were transposing
the old church songs for the boy choir. I regret
to see you do such tradesmen’s work without
adequate reward. Why, even if her Majesty would
give you a fat living or appoint you to the imperial
council which directs musical affairs in the Netherlands!
Pardon me, Sir Wolf! But give people an inch,
and they take an ell, and your ever ready obligingness
will injure you, for the harder it is to win a thing
the higher its value becomes. You made yourself
too cheap at court here people will surely know how
to put a higher value upon a man who is equally skilful
in Netherland, Italian, and German music. In
counterpoint you are little inferior to Maestro Gombert,
and, besides, you play as many instruments as you
have fingers on your hands. We all like to have
you lead us, because you do it with such delicate
taste and comprehension, and, moreover, with a vigour
which one would scarcely expect from you. You
will not lack patrons. Look around you here or
elsewhere for a position as leader of an orchestra.
Goinbert, to relieve himself a little, would like
to have de Hondt come from Antwerp to Brussels.
His place would be the very one for you if you find
nothing worthy of you here, where you have a house
of your own and other things that bind you to the city.”

“Here I should probably be obliged to crowd
somebody else out of one in order to obtain a position,”
replied Wolf, “and I am unwilling to do so.”

“You are wrong,” cried the violinist.
“The course of the world causes the stronger—­and
that you are—­to take precedence of the weaker.
Learn at last to give up this modest withdrawal and
elbow your way forward!”

“Pressing and jostling are not in my nature;”
replied Wolf with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
“Since I may hope to be relieved of anxiety
concerning my daily bread, I am disposed to leave the
court and seek quiet happiness in a more definite
circle of duties at home. You see, Massi, it
is just the same with us human beings as with material
things. There is my man cutting the rope from
yonder package with his sharp knife. The contents
are distributed in a trice, and yet it was tiresome
to collect them and pack them carefully. Thus
it would need only a word to separate myself from
the court; but to join it again would be a totally
different affair. There have been numerous changes
in this city since I went away, and many a hand which
pressed mine in farewell is no longer here, or would
perhaps be withdrawn, merely because I am a Catholic
and intend to stay here among the Protestants.
Besides—­lay the roll on the table, Janche—­besides,
as you have already heard, the final decision does
not depend upon myself.—­Take care, Jan.
That little package is breakable!”

This last exclamation was addressed to Wolf’s
Netherland servant, who was just unpacking his master’s
leather bag.

Page 17

Massi noticed that the articles taken out could scarcely
be intended for a man’s use, and, pointing to
a piece of Flanders velvet, he gaily remarked:

“So my guess was correct. Here, too, the
verdict is to be pronounced by beardless lips.”
Wolf blushed like a girl, but, after the violinist
had waited a short time for the confirmation of his
conjecture, he continued more gravely:

“It ill befits me to intrude upon your secret.
Every one must go his own way, and I have wondered
why a person who so readily renders a service to others
pursues his own path so unsocially. Will you ever
let your friend know what stirs your heart?”

“I should often have confided in you gladly,”
replied Wolf, “but a certain shyness always
restrained me. How can others be interested in
what befalls a lonely, quiet fellow like me? It
is not my habit to talk much, but you will always
find me ready to use hand and brain in behalf of one
who is as dear to me as you, Massi.”

“You have already given me proof of that,”
replied the violinist, “and I often marvel how
you find time, without neglecting your own business,
to do so much for others with no payment except thanks.
I thought you would accomplish something great, because
you paid no heed to women; but probably you depend
on other powers, for if it is a pair of beautiful
eyes whose glance is to decide so important a matter——­”

“Never mind that,” interrupted Wolf beseechingly,
raising his hand soothingly. “I confess
with Terentius that nothing human is strange to me.
As soon as the decision comes, I will tell you—­but
you alone—­several particulars. Now
accept my thanks for your well-meant counsel and the
use of your room. I’ll see you again early
to-morrow. I promised Gombert and the leader
of the boy choir to lend them a helping hand, so we
shall probably meet at the rehearsal.—­Go
to the stable, Janche, and see that the groom has
rubbed the bay down thoroughly. As for the rolls
and packages here——­”

“I’ll help you carry them,” said
the violinist, seizing his shoes; but Wolf eagerly
declined his assistance, and went out to ask the landlord
to let him have one of his men.

But the servants of the overcrowded Red Cock all had
their hands full, so the nine-year-old son of the
Leitgeb couple and the cellar man’s two somewhat
younger boys, who had not yet gone to bed, were made
bearers of the parcels.

How eager they were to do something which suited grown
people, and, when Wolf described the place where they
were to carry the articles, Fran Leitgeb sympathizingly
helped him, and charged the children to hold the valuable
packages very carefully. They must not spare the
knocker in the second story of the cantor house, for
old Ursula’s hearing was no longer the best,
and since the day before yesterday—­Kathl
had brought the news home—­she had been
ill. “Some rare luck,” the landlady
continued, “will surely follow the knight up
to the Blombergs. The same old steep path, leads
there; but as to Wawer!—­it would be improper
to say Jungfrau Barbara—­you will surer
open your eyes—­” Here she was summoned
to the kitchen, and Wolf followed his little assistants
into the street.

Page 18

CHAPTER III.

The cantor house was only a few steps from the Red
Cock, and Wolf knew every stone in the street, which
was named for the tavern. Yet that very circumstance
delayed him, for even the smallest trifle which had
changed during his absence attracted his attention.

He had already noticed at the familiar inn that the
gay image of the Madonna and Cluld, and the little
lamp above, were no longer there. The pictures
of the saints had been removed from the public rooms,
and even the painting which had been impressed upon
his memory from boyhood—­like a sign of
the house—­had vanished. A large red
cock, crowing with wide-open beak at the Apostle Peter,
had been there.

This venerable work of an old artist ought to have
been retained, no matter what doctrine the Leitgebs
now professed. Its disappearance affected the
knight unpleasantly.

It also induced him to see whether the Madonna with
the swords in her heart, which, at the time of his
departure, had adorned the Ark, the great house at
the corner of the Haidplatz, had met with the same
fate, and this sacred witness of former days had likewise
been sacrificed to the iconoclasm of the followers
of the new Protestant faith. This also grieved
him, and urged him to go from street to street, from
church to church, from monastery to monastery, from
one of the chapels which no great mansion in his native
land lacked to another, in order to ascertain what
else religious fanaticism had destroyed; but he was
obliged to hasten if he wished to be received by those
in his home whom he most desired to see.

The windows of the second story in the Golden Cross,
opposite to the Ark, were brilliantly lighted.
The Emperor Charles lodged there, and probably his
royal sister also. Wolf had given his heart to
her with the devotion with which he had always clung
to every one to whom he was indebted for any kindness.
He knew her imperial brother’s convictions, too,
and when he saw at one of the windows a man’s
figure leaning, motionless against the casement with
his hand pressed upon his brow, he realized what deep
indignation had doubtless seized upon him at the sight
of the changes which had taken place here during the
five years of his absence.

But Emperor Charles was not the man to allow matters
which aroused his wrath and strong disapproval to
pass unpunished. Wolf suspected that the time
was not far distant when yonder monarch at the window,
who had won so many victories, would have a reckoning
with the Smalcalds, the allied Protestants of Germany,
and his vivid imagination surrounded him with an almost
mystical power.

He would surely succeed in becoming the master of
the Protestant princes; but was the steel sword the
right weapon to destroy this agitation of the soul
which had sprung from the inmost depths of the German
nature? He knew the firm, obstinate followers
of the new doctrine, for there had been a time when
his own young mind had leaned toward it.

Page 19

Since those days, however, events had happened which
had bound him by indestructible fetters to the old
faith. He had vowed to his dying mother to remain
faithful to the Holy Church and loyally to keep his
oath. It was not difficult for one of his modest
temperament to be content with the position of spectator
of the play of life which he occupied. He was
not born for conflict, and from the seat to which he
had retired he thought he had perceived that the burden
of existence was easier to bear, and the individual
not only obtained external comfort, but peace of mind
more speedily, if he left to the Church many things
which the Protestant was obliged to settle for himself.
Besides, as such, he would have missed many beautiful
and noble things which the old faith daily bestowed
upon him, the artist.

People in Ratisbon held a different opinion.
Defection from the Roman Catholic Church, which seemed
to him reprehensible, was considered here a sacred
duty, worthy of every sacrifice. This threatened
to involve him in fresh spiritual conflicts, and,
as he dreaded such things as nocturnal birds shun
the sunlight, he stood still, thoughtfully asking himself
whether he ought not at once to give up the desire
of striking new roots into this perilous soil.

Only one thing really bound him to Ratisbon, and that
was by no means the house which he had inherited,
but a very young girl, and, moreover, a very changeable
one, of whose development and life he had heard nothing
during his absence except that she had not become another’s
wife. Perhaps this girl, whose charm and musical
talent, according to his opinion, were unequalled
in Ratisbon, had remained free solely because she was
keeping the promise made when, a child of sixteen,
she bade him farewell. She had told him, though
only in her lively childish fashion, that she would
wait for him and become his wife when he returned
home a made man. Yet it now seemed that she had
been as sincerely in earnest in that youthful betrothal
as he himself.

This fair hope crowded every scruple far into the
shade. If Barbara had kept her troth to him,
he would reward her. Wherever he might build his
nest with her, he would be sure of the richest happiness.
Therefore he persisted in making his decision for
the future depend upon her reception.

The only question was whether it had not already grown
too late for him to visit her and her father, who
went to bed with the chickens. But the new clock
in Jacobsplatz pealed only nine bell-like strokes through
the stillness of the evening, and, as he had sent
his gifts in advance, he was obliged to follow them.

He might now regard the cantor house, which was quickly
gained, as his own. Though it was now in the
deepest darkness, he gazed up at the high, narrow
building, with the pointed arches of the windows and
the bracket which supported the image of St. Cecilia
carved from sandstone, as intently as if he could
distinguish every defect in the windows, every ornament
carved in the ends of the beams.

Page 20

The second story, which projected above the ground
floor into the street, was completely dark; but a
faint glimmer of light streamed from the little window
over the spurge laurel tree, and—­this was
the main thing—­the bow window in the third
story was still lighted.

She whom he sought was waiting there with her father,
while beneath it was the former abode of the precentor
and organist and his wife, who had reared Wolf, and
whose heir, after the old man’s death, he had
become.

He would take up his quarters in the room which he
had occupied as a scholar, where he had studied, practised
music, trained himself in the art of composition,
and in leisure hours had even drawn and painted a
little.

Old Ursula, as he had learned from the legal document
which informed him of his inheritance, was taking
care of the property bequeathed to him. With
what pleasure the old maid-servant, faithful soul,
who had come with him—­then a little four-year-old
boy—­and his mother to Ratisbon twenty-two
years ago, would make a bed for him and again cook
the pancakes, which she knew to be his favourite dish!

The thought of the greeting awaiting him from her
dispelled the timidity with which he had set his foot
on the first of the three steps that led up to the
threshold of the house. He had no occasion to
use the knocker; a narrow, long streak of light showed
that, notwithstanding the late hour, the outer door
was ajar.

Now he heard an inner door open, and this again aroused
the anxiety he had just conquered. Suppose that
he should find Wawerl below? Ardently as he yearned
for her to whom all the love of his heart belonged,
this meeting would have come too quickly. Yet
she might very easily happen to be in the lower story,
for the lighted window beside the door belonged to
the little house chapel, and since her confirmation
she had undertaken to sweep it, clean the candlesticks
and lamps, and keep them in order, fill the vases
on the little altar with blossoms, and adorn the image
of the Madonna with flowers on Lady day and other
festivals.

How often he had helped the child and heard her father
call her “his little sacrist”!

The chapel here had gained greater importance to him
when the Blombergs placed above the altar the Madonna
and Child which he, who tried all the arts, had copied
with his own hand from an ancient painting. This
had been in July; but when, on the Virgin’s
Assumption day in August, Barbara was twining a beautiful
garland of summer flowers around it, and he, with
an overflowing heart, was helping her, his head accidentally
struck against hers, and to comfort her he compassionately
kissed the bruised spot. Only a short time ago
she had frankly thrown her arms around his neck if
she wanted him to gratify a wish or forgive an offence
without ever receiving a response to her affection.
This time he had been the aggressor, and received
an angry rebuff; during the little scuffle which now
followed, Wolf’s heart suddenly grew hot, and
his kiss fell upon her scarlet lips. The first
was followed by several others, until steps on the
stairs parted the young lover from the girl, who offered
but a feeble resistance.

Page 21

Now he remembered the incident, and his cheeks flushed
again. Oh, if to-day he should possess the right
to have those refractory lips at his disposal!

During the five months spent in Ratisbon after that
attack in the chapel he had more than once been bold
enough to strive for more kisses, but always in vain,
and rarely without bearing away a sharp reprimand,
for Barbara had felt her slight resistance in the
chapel as a grave offence. She had permitted
something forbidden under the eyes of the Virgin’s
image, and this had seemed to her so wicked that she
had confessed it, and not only been sternly censured,
but had a penance imposed.

Barbara had not forgotten this, and had understood
how to keep him aloof with maidenly austerity until,
on the evening before his departure, he had hung around
her neck the big gold thaler his godfather had given
him.

Then, obeying an impulse of gratitude, she had thrown
her arms around his neck; but even then she would
not allow him to kiss her lips again. Instead,
she hastily drew back to examine the gold thaler closely,
praised its weight and beauty, and then promised Wolf
that when she was rich and he had become a great lord
she would have a new goblet made for him out of just
such coins, like one which she had seen at the Wollers
in the Ark, the richest of her wealthy relatives.

As Wolf now recalled this promise it vexed him again.

What had he expected from that parting hour—­the
vow of eternal fidelity, a firm betrothal, ardent
kisses, and a tender embrace? But, instead of
obtaining even one of these beautiful things, he had
become involved in a dispute with Barbara because
he desired to receive nothing from her, and only claimed
the right of showering gifts upon her later.

This had pleased her, and, when he urged her to promise
to wait for him and become his wife when he returned
home a made man, she laughed gaily, and declared that
she liked him, and, if it should be he who obtained
for her what she now had in mind, she would be glad.

Then his loving heart overflowed, and with her hands
clasped in his he entreated her to give up these arrogant
thoughts, be faithful to him, and not make him wretched.

The words had poured so ardently, so passionately
from the quiet, sedate young man’s lips that
the girl was thoroughly frightened, and wrenched her
hands from his grasp. But when she saw how deeply
her struggling hurt him, she voluntarily held out
her right hand, exclaiming:

“Only succeed while you are absent sufficiently
to build a house like our old one in the Kramgasse,
and when the roof is on and your knightly escutcheon
above the door we will move in together, and life will
be nothing but music and happiness.”

This was all that gave him the right to consider her
as his betrothed bride, for after a brief farewell
and a few kisses of the hand flung to him from the
threshold, she had escaped to the little bow-windowed
room and thereby also evaded from the departing lover
an impressive, well-prepared speech concerning the
duties of a betrothed couple.

Page 22

Yet in Rome and Brussels Wolf had held fast to the
conviction that a beloved betrothed bride was awaiting
him in Ratisbon.

So long as his foster-parents lived he had had news
from them of the Blombergs. After the death of
the old couple, Barbara’s father had answered
in a very awkward manner the questions which he had
addressed to him in a letter, and his daughter wrote
a friendly message under the old captain’s signature.
True, it was extremely brief, but few fiery love letters
ever made the recipient happier or were more tenderly
pressed to the lips.

The girl he loved still bore the name of Barbara Blomberg.

This outweighed a whole archive of long letters.
The captain, who, for the sake of fighting the infidels,
had so sadly neglected his property that his own house
in the Kramgasse fell into the hands of his creditors,
had rented the second story in the cantor house.
Barbara at that time was very small, but now she had
ceased to be a child, and, after she devoted herself
earnestly to acquiring the art of singing, the old
warrior had undertaken to keep the little chapel in
order.

The task certainly seemed strangely ill-suited to
the tall, broad-shouldered man with the bushy eyebrows,
long beard, and mustache twisted stiffly up at the
ends, who had obtained in Tunis and during the Turkish
war the reputation of being one of the most fearless
heroes, and carried away severe wounds; but he knew
how to make scoffers keep their distance, and did
not trouble himself at all about other people.

Regularly every evening he went down the stairs and
performed the duty he had undertaken with the punctilious
care of a neat housewife.

He was a devout man, and did his work there in the
hope of pleasing the Holy Virgin, because the reckless
old warrior was indebted to her for more than one
deliverance from impending death, and because he trusted
that she would repay it to him in his child.

Besides, his income was not large enough for him to
keep a maid-servant of his own, and he could not expect
old Ursel, who had worked for the precentor and his
wife, and performed the roughest labour in the third
story for a mere “thank you,” to take care
of the chapel also. She had plenty to do, and
besides she had been a Protestant three years, and
took the Lord’s Supper in a different form.

This would have induced him to break off every connection
with his old friend’s maid-servant had not his
kind, grateful heart forbidden him to hurt her feelings.
Besides, she was almost indispensable to his daughter
and himself; it was difficult enough, in any case,
for the nobly born captain to meet the obligations
imposed by his position.

He now received only a very small portion of the profits
of the lumber trade which had supported his ancestors,
his father, and himself very handsomely, for he had
been compelled to mortgage his share in the business.

Page 23

Notwithstanding the title of “Captain”
with which his imperial commander had honoured him
when he received his discharge, the pension he had
was scarcely worth mentioning, and, besides, it was
very irregularly paid. Therefore the father and
daughter had tried to obtain some means of earning
money which could be kept secret from their fellow-citizens.
The “Captain” busied himself with tracing
coats-of-arms, ornaments, and inscriptions upon tin
goblets, mugs, tankards, and dishes. Barbara,
when she had finished her exercises in singing, washed
fine laces. This was done entirely in secret.
A certain Frau Lerch, who when a girl had served Barbara’s
dead mother as waiting maid, and now worked as a dressmaker
for the most aristocratic women in Ratisbon, privately
obtained this employment. It was partly from
affection for the young lady whom she had tended when
a child; but the largest portion of Barbara’s
earnings returned to her, for she cut for the former
all the garments she needed to appear among her wealthy
relatives and young companions at dances, musical
entertainments, banquets, and excursions to the country.
True, Frau Lerch, who was a childless woman, worked
very cheaply for her, and, when she heard that Barbara
had again been the greatest beauty, it pleased her,
and she saw her seed ripening.

What a customer the vain darling, who was very ambitious,
promised to become in the future as the wife of a
rich aristocrat! She would undoubtedly be that.
There was absolute guarantee of it in her marvellously
beautiful head, with its abundant golden hair, her
magnificent figure, which—­she could not
help knowing it—­was unequalled in Ratisbon,
and her nightingale voice.

Even old Blomberg, who kept aloof from the meetings
of his distinguished fellow-citizens, but, on the
other hand, when his supply of money would permit,
enjoyed a drinking bout at the tavern with men of the
sword all the more, rejoiced to hear his daughter’s
rare gifts lauded. The use of the graver was
thoroughly distasteful and unsuited to his rank; but
even the most laborious work gained a certain charm
for his paternal heart when, while wiping the perspiration
from his brow, he thought of what his diligence would
allow him to devote to the adornment and instruction
of his daughter.

He preferred to be alone at home, and his reserved,
eccentric nature had caused his relatives to shun
his house, which doubtless seemed to them contemptibly
small.

Barbara endured this cheerfully, for, though she had
many relatives and acquaintances among the companions
of her own age, she possessed no intimate friend.

As a child, Wolf had been her favourite playmate,
but now visits from her aunts and cousins would only
have interrupted her secret work, and disturbed her
practice of singing.

When Wolf entered the house, the captain had just
left the chapel. He did not notice the returning
owner, for people must have made their way into the
quiet dwelling. At least he had heard talking
in the entry of the second story, where usually it
was even more noiseless than in his lodgings in the
third, since it was tenanted only by old Ursel, who
was now confined to her bed.

Page 24

Wolf saw Barbara’s father, whose height surpassed
the stature of ordinary men by a head, hurrying up
the stairs. It was a strange, and, for children,
certainly an alarming, sight—­his left leg,
which had been broken by a bullet from a howitzer,
had remained stiff, and, as he leaped up three stairs
at a time, he stretched his lean body so far forward
that it seemed as though he could not help losing
his balance at the next step. He was in haste,
for he thought that at last he could again acquit
himself manfully and cope with one or rather with two
or three of the burglars who, since the Duke of Bavaria
had prohibited the conveyance of provisions into Ratisbon
as a punishment for its desertion of the Catholic
Church, had pursued their evil way in the city.

He first discovered with what very small ill-doers
he had to deal when he held the little lamp toward
them, and, to his sincere vexation, found that they
were only little boys, who, moreover, were the children
of honest folk, and therefore could scarcely be genuine
scoundrels.

Yet it could hardly be any laudable purpose which
brought them at so late an hour to the cantor house,
and therefore, with the intention of turning the serious
attack into a mirthful one; he shouted in a harsh voice
the gibberish which he had compounded of scraps of
all sorts of languages, and whose effect upon unruly
youngsters he had tested to his own amusement.

As his rough “Larum gardum quantitere runze
punze ke hi voi la” now reached the little ones,
the impression was far deeper than he had intended,
for the cellar man’s youngest son, a little fellow
six years old, first shrieked aloud, and, when the
terrible old man’s long arms barred his way,
he began to cry piteously.

This troubled the kind-hearted giant, who was really
fond of children, and, ere the little lad was aware
of it, the captain’s free left hand grasped
the waistband of his little leather breeches and lifted
him into the air.

The swift act doubled the terror and anguish of the
struggling little wight.

As the strong man held him on his arm he fought bravely
with his fat little fists and his sturdy little legs.
But though in the unequal conflict the boy pitilessly
pulled the powerful monster’s grayishy yellow
imperial and bushy mustache, and the captain recognised
the child from the Red Cock as one of the rascals
who often shouted their nickname of “Turkey
gobbler” after his tall figure, conspicuous from
its height and costume, he strove with honest zeal
to soothe the little one.

His deep voice, meanwhile, sounded so gentle and friendly,
and his promise to give him a piece of spice cake
which he was bringing home to Ursel to sweeten the
disagreeable taste of her medicine produced so soothing
an influence, that little Hans at last looked up at
him trustingly and hopefully.

The cellar man’s oldest son, who had violently
assaulted the old gentleman to release his little
brother, now stood penitently before him, and the
landlord’s boy related, in somewhat confused
but perfectly intelligible words, the object of their
coming, and in whose name they were bringing the roll
and yonder little package to old Ursel.

Page 25

The story sounded humble enough, but as soon as the
captain had set little Hans on his feet and bent curiously
over the forerunners of the dear friend, which had
been placed on the little bench by the door, the three
boys dashed down the stairs, and the shrill voice of
the landlord’s son shrieked from the lowest
step one “Turkey gobbler” and “Pope’s
slave” after another.

“Satan’s imps!” shouted the old
man; but the outer door, which banged below him, showed
that pursuit of the naughty mockers would result to
his disadvantage. Then as, with an angry shake
of the head, he drew back from the banisters, he saw
his daughter’s playmate.

How dear the latter was to him, and how fully his
aged heart had retained its capacity of feeling, were
proved by the reception which he gave the returning
knight. The injury just inflicted seemed to have
been entirely forgotten. With tears in his eyes
and a voice tremulous with deep emotion, he drew Wolf
toward him, kissing first his head, which reached
only to his lips, then his cheeks and brow. Then,
with youthful vivacity, he expressed his pleasure
in seeing him again, and, without permitting Wolf
to speak, he repeatedly exclaimed:

“And my Wawerl, and Ursel in there! There’ll
be a jubilee!”

When Wolf had at last succeeded in returning his old
friend’s greeting and then expressed a wish,
first of all, to clasp the faithful old maid-servant’s
hand, the old gentleman’s beaming face clouded,
and he said, sighing:

“What has not befallen us here since you went
away, my dear Wolf! My path has been bordered
with tombstones as poplars line the highway. But
we will let the dead rest. Nothing can now disturb
their peace. Old Ursel, too, is longing for the
end of life, and we ought not to grudge it to her.
Only I dread the last hour, and still more the long
eternity which will follow it, for the good, patient
woman entered the snare of the Satanic Protestant
doctrine, and will not hear of taking the holy sacrament.”

Wolf begged him to admit him at once, but Blomberg
declared that, after the attack of apoplexy which
she had recently had, one thing and another might
happen if she should so unexpectedly see the man to
whom her whole heart clung. Wolf would do better
first to surprise the girl upstairs, who had no suspicion
of his presence. He, Blomberg, must look after
the old woman now. He would carry those things—­he
pointed to the parcels which the boys had left—­into
the young nobleman’s old room. Ursel had
always kept it ready for his return, as though she
expected him daily. This suited Wolf, only he
insisted upon having his own way about the articles
he had brought, and took them upstairs with him.

He would gladly have greeted the faithful nurse of
his childhood at once, yet it seemed like a fortunate
dispensation that, through the old man’s delay
below, his wish to have his first meeting with the
woman he loved without witnesses should be fulfilled.

Page 26

CHAPTER IV.

In spite of the darkness and the zigzag turns of the
stairs, Wolf was so familiar with every corner of
the old house that he did not even need to grope his
way with his hand.

He found the door of the Blomberg lodgings open.
Putting down in the anteroom whatever might be in
his way while greeting Barbara, and carrying the roll
of velvet under his arm and a little box in his pocket,
he entered the chamber which the old man called his
artist workshop. It was in total darkness, but
through the narrow open door in the middle of the
left wall one could see what was going on in Barbara’s
little bow-windowed room. This was quite brightly
lighted, for she was ironing and crimping ruffs for
the neck, small lace handkerchiefs, and cuffs.

The light required for this purpose was diffused by
a couple of tallow candles and also by the coals which
heated the irons.

As she bent over the glow, it shone into her beautiful
face and upon her magnificent fair hair, which rippled
in luxuriant confusion about her round head or fell
in thick waves to her hips. The red kerchief which
had confined it was lying on the floor. Another
had slipped from her neck and was hanging on the corner
of the ironing board. Her stockings had lost
their fastenings and slipped down to her feet, revealing
limbs whose whiteness and beauty of form vied with
the round arms which, after holding the iron near
her hot cheeks, she moved with eager diligence.

The image of a vivacious, early developed child had
impressed itself upon Wolf’s mind. Now
he stood before a maiden in the full bloom of her
charms, whose superb symmetry of figure surprised and
stirred him to the depths of his nature.

In spite of her immature youth, he had cherished her
in his inmost heart. youth, she confronted him as
an entirely new and doubly desirable creature.
The quiet longing which had mastered him was transformed
into passionate yearning, but he restrained it by
exerting all the strength of will peculiar to him,
for a voice within cried out that he was too insignificant
for this marvellous maiden.

But when she dipped the tips of her fingers into the
dainty little bowl, which he had once given her for
a birthday present, sprinkled the linen with water,
and meanwhile sang in fresh, clear notes the ’ut,
re, me, fa, sol, la’ of Perissone Cambio’s
singing lesson, new wonder seized him. What compass,
what power, what melting sweetness the childish voice
against whose shrillness his foster-father and he himself
had zealously struggled now possessed! Neither
songstress nor member of the boy choir whom he had
heard in Italy or the Netherlands could boast of such
bell-like purity of tone! He was a connoisseur,
and yet it seemed as though every tone which he heard
had received the most thorough cultivation.

Page 27

Who in Ratisbon could have been her teacher?
To whom did she owe this masterly training? As
if by a miracle, he knew not whether from looking
or listening, he found a combination of notes which
he had long been seeking for the motet on which he
was working. When he had registered it, and she
sang a few passages from it, what an exquisite delight
awaited him! But what should he do now?
Ought he to surprise her in this way? It would
certainly have been proper to be first announced by
her father; but he could not bring himself even to
stir a foot. Beads of perspiration stood upon
his brow. Panting for breath, he seized his handkerchief
to wipe it, and in doing so the roll of velvet which
he had held under his arm fell on the floor.

Wolf stooped, and, ere he had straightened himself
again, he heard Barbara call in a questioning tone,
“Father?” and saw her put down the iron
and stand listening.

Then, willing or not, he was obliged to announce his
presence, and, with a timid “It is I, Wolf,”
he approached the little bow-windowed room and hesitatingly
crossed the threshold.

“Wolf, my tame Wolf,” she repeated gaily,
without being in the least concerned about the condition
of her dress. “I knew that we should soon
meet again, for, just think of it! I dreamed of
you last night. I was entering a golden coach.
It was very high, so I put my foot on your hand, and
you lifted me in.”

Then, without the least embarrassment, she held out
her right hand, but slapped his fingers smartly when
he passionately endeavoured to raise it to his lips.

Yet the blow was not unkindly meant, for even while
he drew back she voluntarily clasped both his hands,
scrutinized him intently from head to foot, and said
calmly:

“Welcome to the old home, Sir Knight!”
Then, laughing gaily, she added: “Why,
such a thing is unprecedented! Not a feature,
not a look is unlike what it used to be! And
yet you’ve been roaming five years in foreign
lands! Changes take place—­only look
at me!—­changes take place more swiftly
here in Ratisbon. How you stare at me! I
thought so! Out with it! Hasn’t the
feather-head of those days become quite a charming
young lady?”

Now Wolf would gladly have made as many flattering
speeches as she could desire, but his tongue refused
to obey him. The new meeting was too unlike his
expectation. The sight of the self-conscious woman
who, in her wonderful beauty, stood leaning with folded
arms on the ironing-table stirred his heart and senses
too strongly.

Standing motionless, he strove for words, while his
eyes revealed plainly enough the passionate rapture
which agitated his soul. Barbara perceived what
was passing in his thoughts, and also noticed how her
dress had become disarranged during her work.

Flushing slightly, she pursed up her lips as if to
whistle, and with her head thrust forward she blew
into the air in his direction. Then, shaking
her finger at him, she hastily sat down on the chest
beside the fireplace, wound the kerchief which had
fallen off closer around her neck, and, without the
least embarrassment, pulled up her stockings.

Page 28

“What does it matter!” she cried with
a slight shrug of the shoulders. “How often
we two have waded together in water above our knees,
like the storks! And yet such a thing turns the
head of a youth who has returned from foreign lands
a made man, and closes his bearded lips! Have
you given me even a single honest word of welcome?
That’s the way with all of you! And you?
If you stand there already like a dumb sign-post, how
will it be when I thoroughly turn your head like all
the rest with my singing?”

“I’ve heard you already!” he answered
quickly; “magical, bewildering, magnificent!
Who in the world wrought this miracle with your voice?”

“There we have it!” she cried, laughing
merrily and clapping her hands. “To make
you speak, one need only allude distantly to music.
That, too, has remained unchanged, and I am glad,
for I have much to ask you in relation to it.
I can learn many things from you still. But what
have you there in your hand? Is it anything pretty
from Brabant?” This question flowed from her
lips with coaxing tenderness, and she passed her soft
hand swiftly over his cheek.

How happy it made him!

Hitherto he had been the receiver—­nay,
an unfair taker—­but now he was to become
the giver and she would be pleased with his present.

As if relieved from a nightmare, he now told her that
he had gone from Rome, through the Papal Legate Contarini,
whom he had accompanied to Italy as a secretary skilled
in German and music—­to the imperial court,
where he now enjoyed the special favour of the Regent
of the Netherlands, the widowed Queen of Hungary;
that the royal lady, the sister of the Emperor Charles,
had chosen him to be director of her lessons in singing,
and also permitted him to write German letters for
her; and what assistance worthy of all gratitude he
had enjoyed through the director of the imperial musicians,
Gombert, the composer and leader of the royal orchestra,
and his colleague Appenzelder, who directed the Queen’s
boy choir.

At the mention of these names, Barbara listened intently.
She had sung several of Gombert’s compositions,
and was familiar with one of Appenzelder’s works.

When she learned that both must have arrived in Ratisbon
several hours before, she anxiously asked Wolf if
he would venture to make her acquainted with these
great masters.

Wolf assented with joyous eagerness, while Barbara’s
cheeks crimsoned with pleasure at so valuable a promise.

Yet this subject speedily came to a close, for while
talking Wolf had ripped the linen cover in which the
roll of velvet was sewed, and, as soon as he unfolded
the rich wine-coloured material, Barbara forgot everything
else, and burst into loud exclamations of pleasure
and admiration. Then, when Wolf hastened out
and with hurrying fingers opened the little package
he had brought and gave her the costly fur which was
to serve as trimming for the velvet jacket, she again
laughed gleefully, and, ere Wolf was aware of it,
she had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed
him on both cheeks.

Page 29

He submitted as if dazed, and did not even regain
his senses sufficiently to profit by what she had
granted him with such unexpected liberality.
Nor did she allow him to speak as she loosed her arms
from his neck, for, with a bewitching light in her
large, blue eyes, fairly overflowing with grateful
tenderness, she cried:

“You dear, dear, kind little Wolf! To think
that you should have remembered me so generously!
And how rich you must be! If I had become so
before you, I should have given myself a dress exactly
like this. Now it’s mine, just as though
it had dropped from the sky. Wine-coloured Flanders
velvet, with a border of dark-brown marten fur!
I’ll parade in it like the Duchess of Bavaria
or rich Frau Fugger. Holy Virgin! if that isn’t
becoming to my golden hair! Doesn’t it just
suit me, you little Wolf and great spendthrift?
And when I wear it at the dance in the New Scale or
sing in it at the Convivium musicum, my Woller cousins
and the Thun girl will turn yellow with envy.”

Wolf had only half listened to this outburst of delight,
for he had reserved until the last his best offering—­a
sky-blue turquoise breastpin set with small diamonds.
It brought him enthusiastic thanks, and Barbara even
allowed him to fasten the magnificent ornament with
his own fingers, which moved slowly and clumsily enough.

Then she hurried into her chamber to bring the hand-mirror,
and when in an instant she returned and, at her bidding,
he held the shining glass before her, she patted his
cheeks with their thin, fair, pointed beard, and called
him her faithful little Wolf, her clear, stupid pedant
and Satan in person, who would fill her mind with
vanity.

Finally, she laid the piece of velvet over the back
of a chair, let it fall down to the floor, and threw
the bands of fur upon it. Every graver word,
every attempt to tell her what he expected from her,
the girl cut short with expressions of gratitude and
pleasure until her father returned from the suffering
Ursel.

Then, radiant with joy, she showed the old man her
new treasures, and the father’s admiration and
expressions of gratitude were not far behind the daughter’s.

It seemed as though Fate had blessed the modest rooms
in Red Cock Street with its most precious treasures.

It might be either Wolf’s return, the hopes
for his daughter which were associated with it in
the crippled old warrior’s heart, or the unexpected
costly gifts, to which Wolf had added for his old friend
a Netherland drinking vessel in the form of a silver
ship, which had moved the old gentleman so deeply,
but at any rate he allowed himself to be tempted into
an act of extravagance, and, in an outburst of good
spirits which he had not felt for a long time, he
promised Wolf to fetch from the cellar one of the
jugs of wine which he kept there for his daughter’s
wedding.

“Over this liquid we will open our hearts freely
to each other, my boy,” he said. “The
night is still long, and even at the Emperor’s
court there is nothing better to be tasted. My
dead mother used to say that there are always more
good things in a poor family which was once rich than
in a rich one which was formerly poor.”

Page 30

CHAPTER V.

The captain limped out into the cellar, but Barbara
was already standing behind the table again, moving
the irons.

“When I am rich,” she exclaimed, in reply
to Wolf, who asked her to stop her work in this happy
hour and share the delicious wine with him and her
father, “I shall shun such maid-servant’s
business. But what else can be done? We
have less money than we need to keep up our position,
and that must be remedied. Besides, a neatly
crimped ruff is necessary if a poor girl like me is
to stand beside the others in the singing rehearsal
early to-morrow morning. Poor folks are alike
everywhere, and, so long as I can do no better—­but
luck will come to me, too, some day—­this
right hand must be my maid. Let it alone, or
my iron will burn your fingers!”

This threat was very nearly fulfilled, for Wolf had
caught her right hand to hold it firmly while he at
last compelled her to hear that his future destiny
depended upon her decision.

How much easier he had expected to find the wooing!
Yet how could it be otherwise? Every young man
in Ratisbon was probably courting this peerless creature.
No doubt she had already rebuffed many another as
sharply as she had just prevented him from seizing
her hand. If her manner had grown more independent,
she had learned to defend herself cleverly.

He would first try to assail her heart with words,
and they were at his disposal in black and white.
He had placed in the little box with the breastpin
a piece of paper on which he had given expression to
his feelings in verse. Hitherto it had remained
unnoticed and fluttered to the ground. Picking
it up, he introduced his suit, after a brief explanation,
by reading aloud the lines which he had composed in
Brussels to accompany his gifts to her.

It was an easy task, for he had painted rather than
written his poetic homage, with beautiful ornaments
on the initial letters, and in the most careful red
and black Gothic characters, which looked like print.
So, with a vivacity of intonation which harmonized
with the extravagance of the poetry, he began:

“Queen
of my heart wert thou in days of old,
Beloved
maid, in childhood’s garb so plain;
I
bring thee velvet now, and silk and gold
Though
I am but a poor and simple swain
That
in robes worthy of thee may be seen
My
sovereign, of all thy sex the queen.”

Barbara nodded pleasantly to him, saying: “Very
pretty. Perhaps you might arrange your little
verse in a duo, but how you must have taxed your imagination,
you poor fellow, to transform the flighty good-for-nothing
whom you left five years ago into a brilliant queen!”

“Because, even at that time,” he ardently
exclaimed. “I had placed you on the throne
of my heart, because the bud already promised—­Yet
no! In those days I could not suspect that it
would unfold into so marvellous a rose. You stand
before me now more glorious than I beheld you in the
most radiant of all my dreams, and therefore the longing
to possess you, which I could never relinquish, will
make me appear almost insolently bold. But it
must be risked, and if you will fulfil the most ardent
desire of a faithful heart—­”

Page 31

“Gently, my little Wolf, gently,” she
interposed soothingly. “If I am right,
you mounted our narrow stairs to seek a wife and, when
my father returns, you will ask for my hand.”

“That I will,” the young knight declared
with eager positiveness. “Your ‘Yes’
or ‘No,’ Wawerl, is to me the decree of
Fate, to which even the gods submit without opposition.”

“Indeed?” she answered, uttering the word
slowly, with downcast eyes. Then suddenly drawing
herself to her full height, she added with a graver
manner than he had ever seen her wear: “It
is fortunate that I have learned the stories of the
gods which are so popular in the Netherlands.
If any one else should come to me with such pretences,
I would scarcely believe that he had honest intentions.
You are in earnest, Wolf, and wish to make me your
wife. But ‘Yes’ and ‘No’
can not be spoken as quickly as you probably imagine.
You were always a good, faithful fellow, and I am
sincerely attached to you. But have I even the
slightest knowledge of what you obtained abroad or
what awaits you here?”

“Wawerl!” he interrupted reproachfully.
“Would I as an honest man seek your hand if
I had not made money enough to support a wife whose
expectations were not too extravagant? You can
not reasonably doubt that, and now, when the most
sacred of bonds is in question, it ought—­”

“It ought, you think, to satisfy me?”
she interrupted with confident superiority. “But
one of two things must follow this sacred bond-happiness
or misery in the earthly life which is entered from
the church steps. I am tired of the miserable
starving and struggling, my dear Wolf. Marriage
must at least rid me of these gloomy spectres.
My father will not let you leave soon the good wine
he allows himself and you to enjoy—­you
know that. Tell him how you are situated at the
court, and what prospects, you have here in Ratisbon
or elsewhere; for instance, I would gladly go to the
magnificent Netherlands with my husband. Inform
yourself better, too, of the amount of your inheritance.
The old man will take me into his confidence early
to-morrow morning. But I will confess this to
you now: The most welcome husband to me would
be a zealous and skilful disciple of music, and I
know that wish will be fulfilled with you. If,
perhaps, you are already what I call a successful man,
we will see. But—­I have learned that—­no
happiness will thrive on bread and water, and even
a modest competence, as it is called, won’t do
for me.”

“But Wawerl,” he interrupted dejectedly,
“what could be better than true, loyal love?
Just hear what I was going to tell you, and have not
yet reached.”

But Barbara would not listen, cutting his explanation
short with the words:

Page 32

“All that is written as distinctly on the tender
swain’s face as if I had it before me in black
letter, but unfortunately it has as little power to
move me to reckless haste as the angry visage into
which your affectionate one is now transformed.
The Scripture teaches us to prove before we retain.
Yet if, on this account, you take me for a woman whose
heart and hand can be bought for gold, you are mistaken.
Worthy Peter Schlumperger is constantly courting me.
And I? I have asked him to wait, although he
is perhaps the richest man in the city. I might
have Bernard Crafft, too, at any time, but he, perhaps,
is as much too young as Herr Peter is too old, yet,
on the other hand, he owns the Golden Cross, and,
besides, has inherited a great deal of money and a
flourishing business. I keep both at a distance,
and I did the same—­only more rigidly—­last
year when the Count Palatine von Simmern made me proposals
which would have rendered me a rich woman, but only
aroused my indignation. I dealt more indulgently
with the Ratisbon men, but I certainly shall take
neither of them, for they care more for the wine in
the taproom than the most exquisite pleasures which
music offers, and, besides, they are foes of our holy
faith, and Herr Schlumperger is even one of those who
most zealously favour the heretical innovations.”

Here she hesitated and her eyes met his with distrustful
keenness as she asked in an altered tone:

“And you? Have not you returned to the
false doctrines with which your boyish head was bewildered
in the school of poetry?”

“I confided to you then,” he exclaimed,
deeply hurt, “the solemn vow I made to my poor
mother ere she closed her eyes in death.”

“Then that obstacle is removed,” Barbara
answered in a more gentle tone, “but I will
not take back even a single word of what I have said
about other matters. I am not like the rest of
the girls. My father—­Holy Virgin!—­how
much too late he was born! Among the Crusaders
this fearless hero, whom the pepper-bags here jeer
at as a ‘Turkey gobbler,’ would have been
sure of every honour. How ill-suited he is for
any mercantile business, on the other hand, he has
unfortunately proved. Wherever he attempted anything,
disappointment followed disappointment. To fight
in Tunis against the crescent, he let our flourishing
lumber trade go to ruin! And my mother!
How young I was when her dead body was borne out of
the house, yet I can still see the haughty woman—­whose
image I am said to be—­in her trailing velvet
robe, with plumes waving amid the curls arranged in
a towering mass upon her head. She was dressed
in that way when the men came to sell our house in
the Kramgasse at auction. She must have been
one of the women under whose management, as a matter
of course, the household is neglected.”

“How can you talk so about your own mother?”
Wolf interrupted in a somewhat reproachful tone.

Page 33

“Because we are not here to flatter the dead
or to speak falsely to each other, but to understand
how matters are between us,” she answered gravely.
“How you are constituted is best known to yourself,
but it seems to me that while far away you have formed
a totally false opinion of me, whom you placed upon
the throne of your heart, and I wish to correct it,
that you may not plunge into misfortune like a deluded
simpleton and drag me with you. Where, as in
my case, so many things are different from what the
good and humble would desire them to be, it is not
very pleasant to open one’s whole heart to another,
and there is no one else in the world for whom I would
do it. Perhaps I shall not succeed at all, for
often enough I am incomprehensible to myself.
I shall understand myself most speedily if I bring
before my mind my father’s and my mother’s
nature, and recall the ancient saying that young birds
sing like the old ones. My father—­I
love him in spite of all his eccentricities and weaknesses.
Dear me! he needs me so much, and would be miserable
without me. Though he is a head taller than you,
he has remained a child.”

“But a good, kind-hearted one!” Wolf interrupted
with warm affection.

“Of course,” Barbara eagerly responded;
“and if I have inherited from him anything which
is ill-suited to me, it is the fearless courage which
does not beseem us women. We progress much farther
if we hold back timidly. Therefore, often as
it impels me to resistance, I yield unless it is too
strong for me. Besides, but for your interruption,
I should have said nothing about my father. What
concerns us I inherited from my mother, and, as I
mean kindly toward you, this very heritage compels
me to warn you against marrying me if you are unable
to support me so that I can make a good appearance
among Ratisbon wives. Moreover, poor church mouse
though I am, I sometimes give them one thing and another
to guess, and I haven’t far to travel to learn
what envy is. In my present position, however,
compassion is far more difficult to bear than ill-will.
But I by no means keep out of the way on that account.
I must be seen and heard if I am to be happy, and
I shall probably succeed so long as my voice retains
the melting tone which is now peculiar to it.
Should anything destroy that, there will be a change.
Then—­I know this in advance—­I
shall tread in the footsteps of my mother, who had
no means of satisfying her longing for admiration
except her pretty face, her beautiful figure, and
the finery which she stole from the poverty of her
husband, and her only child. How you are staring
at me again! But I can not forget that now; for,
had it not been so, we should still be living in our
own house as a distinguished family of knightly rank,
and I should have no need to spend my best hours in
secretly washing laces for others—­yes, for
others, Wolf—­to gain a wretched sum of which
even my father must be ignorant. You do not know
how we are obliged to economize, and yet I can only

Page 34

praise the pride of my father, who induced me to return
the gifts which the Council sends to the house by
the town clerk when I sing in the Convivium musicum.
But what a pleasure it is to show the bloated fellow
the door when he pulls out the linen purse! True,
many things must be sacrificed to do it, and how hard
that often is can not be described. I would not
bear it long. But, if I were your wife and you
had only property enough for a modest competence,
you would scarcely fare better, through my fault,
than my poor father. That would surely be the
result”—­she raised her voice in passionate
eagerness as she spoke:

“I know myself. As for the immediate future,
I feel that the ever-increasing longing for better
days and the rank which is my due will kill me if
I do not satisfy it speedily. I shall never be
content with any half-way position, and I fear you
can not offer me more. Talk with my father, and
think of it during the night. Were I in your place,
I would at once resign the wish to win a person like
me, for if you really love me as ardently as it seems,
you will receive in exchange only a lukewarm liking
for your person and a warm interest in what you can
accomplish; but in other respects, far worse than
nothing—­peril after peril. But if
you will be reasonable and give up your suit, I shall
not blame you a moment. How bewildered you still
stare at me! But there comes father, and I must
finish my work before the irons get cold.”

Wolf gazed after her speechlessly, while she withdrew
behind the table as quietly as if they had been discussing
the most commonplace things.

ETEXT editor’sbookmarks:

A live dog is better
than a dead king
Always more good things
in a poor family which was once rich
Harder it is to win
a thing the higher its value becomes
No happiness will thrive
on bread and water

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 2.

CHAPTER VI.

The old captain blew the dust from the wine flagon
and carefully removed the seal. His presence
prevented Wolf from renewing the interrupted conversation.

Reflection doubtless warned him that it would be a
dangerous venture to enter the same life-boat with
this woman, yet how bewitchingly beautiful she had
seemed to him in her proud superiority, in the agitation
of soul aroused by the yearning for a fairer fate!
Have her he must, even though he was permitted to
call her his own but for a year, a month, an hour.

Many of her words had been harsh and apparently unfeeling,
yet how noble must be the soul of this young creature
who, for the sake of being loyal to truth, the pure
source of everything grand and lofty, paid no heed
to much that is usually sacred to human beings!

Page 35

But Barbara’s conduct during the next hour appeared
to belie this opinion of the man who loved her, for
scarcely had her father sat down with the knight before
the venerable wine flagon than she flung down the smoothing
iron, hastily piled the finished articles one above
another, and then, without heeding the parchment on
which Wolf’s verses were written, rolled up
the ruby velvet. Directly after, with the package
under her arm, she wished the men a merry drinking
bout, and added that poor Ursel might need her.
Besides, she wanted to show her the beautiful material,
which would please the faithful soul.

Then, without even pausing at the rooms in the second
story, she hurried swiftly down the stairs into the
street.

She was carrying Wolf’s gift to Frau Lerch,
her dressmaker.

The Grieb, where the latter lived as wife of the keeper
of the house, was only a few steps distant. If
the skilful woman, who was indebted to her for many
a customer, began the work of cutting at once, her
cousins, the Wollers, could help her the next day
with the sewing. True, these were the very girls
who would “turn yellow with rage” at the
sight of the velvet, but precisely because these rich
girls had so many things of which she was deprived
she felt that, in asking their aid, she was compelling
Fate to atone for an injustice.

Haste was necessary for, at the first glance at the
velvet, she had determined to wear it at the next
dance in the New Scales, and she also saw distinctly
in imagination the person whose attention she desired
to attract.

True, the recruiting officer sent to Ratisbon, of
whom she was thinking, was by no means a more acceptable
suitor, but a handsome fellow, a scion of a noble
family, and, above all, an excellent dancer.

She did not love him—­nay, she was not even
captivated by him like so many others. But, if
his heart throbbed faster for any one, it was Barbara.
Yet perhaps his glances strayed almost as frequently
to one other maiden. The velvet gown should now
decide whether he gave the preference to her or to
pretty Elspet Zohrer—­of course, only in
the dance—­for she would never have accepted
him as a serious suitor.

Besides, the young noble, Pyramus Kogel, himself probably
thought of no such folly.

It was very different with Wolf Hartschwert.
She had been told the small amount of his inheritance
long before, and on that account she would have been
obliged to refuse him positively at once, yet the affectionate
relations existing between them must not be clouded.
He might still become very useful to her and, besides,
the modest companion of her childhood was dear to
her. She would have sincerely regretted an irreparable
breach with him.

Her father indulged her in every respect, only he
strictly forbade his beautiful child to leave the
house alone after sunset. Therefore Barbara had
not told him the real object of her visit. She
now had no occasion to fear his following her.

Page 36

Yet she made all possible haste, and, as she found
Frau Lerch at home, and the skilful little woman was
instantly at her service, she crowded into the space
of an hour the many points about the cutting which
were to be discussed.

Then she set out on her way home, expecting to traverse
the short distance swiftly and without delay; but,
when she had gone only a few paces from the Grieb,
a tall man came toward her.

To avoid him she crossed nimbly to the other side
of the dark little street, but just where it turned
into Red Cock Street he suddenly barred her way.
She was startled, but the oft-proved courage of the
Blomberg race, to which she had just alluded, really
did animate her, and, with stern decision, she ordered
her persecutor to stand aside.

He, however, was not to be intimidated, but exclaimed
as joyously as though some great piece of good fortune
had befallen him:

“Thanks for accosting me, Jungfrau Barbara,
for, though the words are harsh, they prove that,
in spite of the darkness here, my eyes did not deceive
me. Heaven be praised!”

Then the girl recognised the recruiting officer and
excellent dancer of whom she had just been thinking
in connection with the velvet upper robe, and answered
sharply:

“Certainly it is I; but if you are really a
nobleman, Sir Pyramus, take care that I am not exposed
by your fault to evil gossip, and can not continue
to hold my head erect as I now do.”

“Who will see us in this little dark street?”
he asked in low, persuasive tones. “May
all the saints guard me from assailing the honour of
a modest maiden, fairest Barbara; yet, if you fear
that I might prevent your remaining in the future
what the favour of the Most High permits you to be,
I shall rather accuse you of having inflicted upon
me what you fear may befall you; for, since the last
dance, I am really no longer myself, and can never
become so until I have received from your beautiful
lips the modest consolation for which this poor, tortured,
loyal soul is yearning. May I not linger at your
side long enough to ask you one question, you severe
yet ardently beloved maiden?”

“Certainly not,” replied Barbara with
repellent harshness. “I never gave you
a right to speak to me of love; but, above all, I shall
not seek the sharer of a game of question and answer
in the street.”

“Then name a place,” he whispered with
passionate ardour, trying meanwhile to clasp her hand,
“where I may be permitted, in broad sunlight
and before the eyes of the whole world, to say to you
what robs me of rest by day and sleep by night.
Drop the cruel harshness which so strangely and painfully
contradicts the language of your glances the evening
of the last dance. Your eyes have kindled these
flames, and this poor heart will consume in their
glow if I am not suffered to confess to you that I
love you with more ardour than was ever bestowed on
any maiden. This place—­I will admit

Page 37

that it is ill-chosen—­but what other was
open to me? After all, here, too, a bit of the
sky with its many stars is looking down upon us.
But, if you still unkindly refuse me, or the dread
of crossing the barrier of strict decorum forbids you
to listen to me here, you can mercifully name another
spot. Allow me to go to your father and beg him
for the clear hand which, in a happier hour, by not
resisting the pressure of mine, awakened the fairest
hopes in my heart.”

“This is too much,” Barbara indignantly
broke in. “Make way for me at once, and,
if you are well advised, you will spare yourself the
visit to my father; for, even if you were in earnest
with your love and came as an honest suitor to our
modest house, it might easily happen that you would
descend the staircase, which is very steep and narrow,
in as sorrowful a mood as you climbed it secure of
victory.”

Then Pyramus Kogel changed his tone, and said bitterly:

“So your victorious eyes were only carrying
on an idle game with my unsuspecting heart? You
laugh! But I expected to find in my German native
land only girls whose chaste reserve and simple honesty
could be trusted. It would be a great sorrow
if I should learn through you, Jungfrau Barbara, that
here, too, it would have been advisable to arm myself
against wanton deception. True, the French chansons
you sing sound unlike our sincere German songs.
And then you, the fairest of the fair, can choose
at will among men; but the Emperor’s service
carries me from one country to another. I am
only a poor nobleman—­”

“I care not,” she interrupted him here
with icy coldness; “you might be just good enough
for the daughter of another nobleman, who has little
more to call his own than you, Sir Knight, but nevertheless
far too little for me to grant you permission to load
me with unjust reproaches. Besides, you wholly
lack the one advantage which the man to whom I am
willing to betroth myself must possess.”

“And what is that?” he asked eagerly.

“Neither gold nor lands, rank nor splendour,”
she answered proudly, “but changeless fidelity
of the heart. Remember your fluttering from lovely
Elspet Zohrer to me, and from me to Elspet, Sir Pyramus,
and ask yourself what reason you would give me to
expect the fulfilment of such a demand. Your
fine figure and gay manner please us girls very well
at a dance, but, though you should possess the wealth
of the Fuggers and the power of the Sultan, it would
be useless trouble to seek my consent. Stand out
of my path at once! There come the Emperor’s
body guards, and, if you do not obey me, as surely
as I hope for salvation I will call them!”

The last words had escaped her lips in a raised voice,
and vibrated with such honest indignation that the
recruiting officer yielded; but a triumphant smile
flitted over her beautiful face.

Had she known before how complete a victory he had
already won over pretty Elspet Zohrer, her most dangerous
rival, this late errand would have been unnecessary.

Page 38

Yet she did not regret it; true, she cared no more
for Pyramus Kogel than for any one else—­the
certainty that he, too, had succumbed to the spell
of her beauty was associated with a feeling of pleasure
whose charm she knew and valued.

CHAPTER VII.

Every one in Ratisbon or at the court who spoke of
Sir Wolf Hartschwert called him an excellent fellow.
In fact, he had so few defects and faults that perhaps
it might have been better for his advancement in life
and his estimation in the circle of society to which
he belonged if more of them had clung to him.

Hitherto the vice of avarice was the last with which
he could have been reproached. But, when his
old friend filled his glass with wine, the desire
that the property left to him might prove larger than
he had expected overpowered every other feeling.

Formerly it had been welcome mainly as a testimonial
of his old friend’s affection. He did not
need it for his own wants; his position at court yielded
him a far larger income than he required for the modest
life to which he was accustomed. For Barbara’s
sake alone he eagerly hoped that he had greatly underestimated
his foster parents’ possessions.

Ought he to blame her because she desired to change
the life of poverty with her father for one which
better harmonized with her worth and tastes?
He himself, who had lived years in a Roman palace,
surrounded by exquisite works of the gloriously developed
Italian art, and then in the one at Brussels, furnished
with imperial splendour, did not feel perfectly content
in the more than simple room which Blomberg called
his “artist workshop.”

A few rude wooden chairs, a square table with clumsy
feet, and an open cupboard in which stood a few tin
cups, were, the sole furniture of the narrow, disproportionately
long room, whose walls were washed with gray.
The ceiling, with its exposed beams, was blackened
by the pine torches which were often used for lights.
Pieces of board were nailed over the defective spots
in the floor, and the lines where the walls met rarely
showed a right angle.

The window disappeared in the darkness. It was
in the back of the niche formed by the unusually thick
walls. During the day its small, round panes
gave the old gentleman light while he guided his graving
tool. A wooden tripod supported the board on
which his tools lay. The stool, which usually
stood on a wooden trestle opposite to it, now occupied
a place before the table bearing the flagon of wine,
and was intended for Barbara.

After the torches had ceased to burn, a single tallow
candle in a wrought-iron candlestick afforded the
two men light, and threatened to go out when, in the
eagerness of their conversation, they forgot to use
the snuffers.

Neither curtain, carpet, nor noteworthy work of art
pleased the eye in this bare, strangely narrow room.
The weapons and pieces of armour of the aged champion
of the faith, which hung high above the window, made
no pretension to beauty. Besides, the rays of
the dim candle did not extend to them any more than
to the valueless pictures of saints and virgins on
the wall.

Page 39

The door of Barbara’s little bow-window room
stood open. Nothing but a small oil lamp was
burning there. But the articles it contained,
though dainty in themselves, were standing and lying
about in such confusion that it also presented an
unpleasant aspect.

Yet Barbara’s beauty had shed such radiance
upon this hideous environment that the scene of her
industry had seemed to Wolf like an Eden.

Now he could scarcely understand this; but he found
it so much the easier to comprehend that these wretched
surroundings no longer suited such a pearl, and that
it behooved him to procure it a worthier setting.

Still, it was by no means easy to ask the captain
what he desired to know, for during the young knight’s
absence a great many important things had happened
which Blomberg was longing to tell.

He was in such haste to do this that he detained Wolf,
who wanted to speak to old Ursel before he began to
drink the wine, by the statement that she suffered
from wakefulness, and he would disturb her just as
she was falling asleep.

The account of the property bequeathed to the young
knight was only too quickly completed, for, though
the precentor’s will made his foster son the
sole heir, the legacy consisted only of the house,
some portable property, and scarcely more than a thousand
florins.

Yet perhaps something else was coming to Wolf; early
yesterday Dr. Hiltner, the syndic of the city, had
asked his place of residence, and added that he had
some news for him which promised good fortune.

After these communications Blomberg hoped to be able
to mention the important events which had occurred
in Ratisbon during his young friend’s absence;
but Wolf desired with such eager curiosity to hear
the syndic’s news first that it vexed the captain,
and he angrily told him that he would bite off his
tongue before he would even say “How are you?”
to that man, and to play eavesdropper to any one was
not at all in his line.

Here his companion interrupted with the query, What
had caused the learned scholar, whom every one, as
well as the precentor, had highly esteemed, to forfeit
his friend’s good opinion?

Blomberg had waited for such a question.

He had been like a loaded culverin, and Wolf had now
touched the burning match to the powder. To understand
why he, Blomberg, who wished only the best fortune
to every good Christian, would fain have this thorough
scoundrel suffer all the torments of hell, the young
knight must first learn what had happened in Ratisbon
since the last Reichstag.

Until then the good city had resisted the accursed
new religious doctrines which had gained a victory
in Nuremberg and the other cities of the empire.

Page 40

Here also, as Wolf himself had probably experienced,
there had been no lack of inclination toward the Lutheran
doctrine. It was certainly natural, since it
suited the stomach better to fill itself, even during
Lent, than to renounce meat; since there were shameless
priests who would rather embrace a woman than to remain
unmarried; since the Church property bestowed by pious
souls was a welcome morsel to princes and to cities,
and, finally, because licentiousness was more relished
than wholesome discipline. The wicked desires
inspired by all the evil spirits and their tool, the
Antichrist Luther, had gained the upper hand here
also, and Dr. Hiltner, above all others, had prepared
the way for them in Ratisbon. Even at the last
Reichstag his Majesty the Emperor had earnestly, but
with almost too much gracious forbearance, endeavoured
to effect a union between the contending parties,
but directly after his departure from the city rebellion
raised its head with boundless insolence. The
very next year the Council formally introduced the
evil which they called ecclesiastical reformation.
The blinded people flocked to the new parish church
to attend the first service, which they called “Protestant.”
Then the mischief hastened forward with gigantic strides.

“Last year,” cried the old gentleman,
hoarse with indignation, striking the table with his
clenched fist as if he were in camp, “I saw them
with my own eyes throw down and drag away, I know
not where, the pillar with the beautiful image of
Mary, the masterpiece of Erhard Heydenreich, the architect
of the cathedral, which stood in front of the new parish
church. Songs had been composed in her honour,
and she was dear and precious to you from early childhood,
as well as to every native of Ratisbon; the precentor—­God
rest his soul!—­read to me from your letter
from Rome what exquisite works of art you saw there
every day, but that you still remembered with pleasure
the beautiful Virgin at home.

“But what do these impious wretches care about
beautiful and sacred things? The temple desecrators
removed and destroyed one venerable, holy image after
another. True, they did not venture into the cathedral,
probably from fear of his Majesty the Emperor, and
whoever had undertaken to lay hands upon the altar
painting and the Madonna in our chapel would have
paid for it—­I am not boasting—­with
his life. Though ’the beautiful Mary,’
in her superabundant mercy, quietly endured the affront
offered, our Lord himself punished it, for he inspired
the illustrious Duke of Bavaria to issue an edict
which forbids his subjects to trade with Ratisbon.
Whoever even enters the city must pay a heavy fine.
This set many people thinking. Ursel will tell
you what sinful prices we have paid since for butter
and meat. Even the innocent are obliged to buckle
their belts tighter. Those who wished to escape
fasting are now compelled by poverty to practise abstinence.
It is said the Roman King Ferdinand is urging the
revocation of the order. If I were in his place,
I would advise making it more stringent till the rebels
sweat blood and crept to the cross.”

Page 41

Then Blomberg bewailed the untimely leniency of the
Emperor, for there was not even any rumour of a serious
assault upon the Turks. And yet, if only he,
Blomberg, was commissioned to raise an army of the
cross, Christianity would soon have rest from its
mortal foe! But if it should come to fighting—­no
matter whether against the infidels or the heretics—­in
spite of Wawerl and his lame leg, he would take the
field again. No death could be more glorious
than in battle against the destroyer of souls.
The scoundrels were flourishing like tares among the
wheat. At the last Reichstag the Electors of Brandenburg
and Saxony, as well as the Landgrave Philip of Hesse,
brought their own preachers, whose sermons turned
many heads, even the pastor of St. Emmeran’s,
Zollern, who was a child of Ratisbon. At Staufferhof
Baron von Stauff, formerly a man worthy of all honour,
had opened his chapel of St. Ann to all the citizens
to permit them to participate in the Lutheran idolatry.
Two Protestant ministers, one of whom, Dr. Forster,
Luther himself had brought to Ratisbon, were liberally
paid by the Council. Whether Wolf believed it
or not, Father Hamberger, whom he surely remembered
as Prior of the Minorites, and who at that time enjoyed
universal esteem, had taken a wife, and the rest of
the monks had followed the iniquitous example.
Many other priests had married if it suited them, and,
instead of the cowl, wore secular garments. The
instruction given in the school of poets was perfectly
abominable, as he heard from Councillor Steuerer,
who was faithful to the Catholic Church, and strove
to induce the Duke of Bavaria to adopt still sterner
measures against all this disorder.

Very recently men hitherto blameless, like Andreas
Weinzierl and Georg Seidl, had sent their eighteen-year-old
sons to the University of Wittenberg, where the Lutheran
heresies were flourishing most luxuriantly.

But the worst of all was that even faithful sons and
daughters of Holy Church could not keep themselves
wholly untouched by such mischief. Among these,
alas! were he and his Wawerl, for he had been obliged
to allow the girl to join the choristers who sang
in the Convivium Musicum, which the Council had established
in the summer three years before. Two councillors
were assigned to each Convivium, and thus these arrangements
were in Protestant hands.

“Of course,” he added dejectedly, “I
wished to forbid her taking part in them, but, though
with me it is usually bend or break, what can a man
do when a woman is pestering him day and night, sometimes
begging with tears, sometimes with caresses?

“Besides, many a good Catholic entreated me
to give up my opposition. They, do not grudge
the girl her progress, and how much she already owes
to the music teacher who now directs the Collegium
Musicuin! Singing is everything to her, and what
else can I give the poor child? At any rate,
the Netherlander whom the Council brought here three
years ago—­so connoisseurs say—­scarcely
has his equal anywhere in knowledge and ability.
The man came to me and frankly said that he needed
the girl’s voice for the Convivium, and, if
I refused to let Wawerl take part, he would stop teaching
her. As he is a just man of quiet temperament
and advanced in years.”

Page 42

“Where is he from, and what is his name?”
Wolf eagerly interrupted.

“Damian Feys,” replied the captain, “and
he is a native of Ghent in the Netherlands. Although
he is in the pay of the city, he has remained—­he
told me so himself—­a good Catholic.
There was nothing to be feared for the child on the
score of religion. The anxieties which are troubling
me on her account come from another source.”

Then, with a mischievous mirthfulness usually foreign
to his nature, Wolf raised his goblet, exclaiming:

“Cast them upon me, Father Blomberg! I
will gladly help you bear them as your loyal son-in-law.”

“So that’s the way of it,” was the
captain’s answer, his honest eyes betraying
more surprise than pleasure.

Yet he pledged Wolf, and, touching his glass to his,
said:

“I’ve often thought that this might happen
if you should see how she has grown up. If she
consents, nothing could please me better; but how many
lovers she has already encouraged, and then, before
matters became serious, dismissed! I have experienced
it. If you succeed in putting an end to such
trifling, may this hour be blessed! But do you
know the huge maggots she keeps under her golden hair?”

“Both large and small ones,” cried Wolf,
with glowing cheeks. “Truthful as she is,
she did not conceal from the playmate of her youth
a single impulse of her ambitious soul.”

“And did she give you hope?” asked the
captain, thrusting his head eagerly forward.

“Yes,” replied the youth firmly; but he
quickly corrected himself, and, in a less confident
tone, added, “That is, if I could offer her a
care-free life.”

“There it is,” sighed the old man.
“She knows what she wants, and holds firmly
to it. You are the son of a knight, and on account
of the music which you can pursue together—­With
her everything is possible and little is impossible.
In any case, you will have no easy life with her, and,
ere you order the wedding ring——­”
Here he suddenly stopped, for a bird-song, high, clear,
and yet as insinuatingly sweet as though, on this
evening in late April, the merriest and most skilful
feathered songsters which had recently found their
way home to the fresh green leafage on the shore of
the Danube had made an appointment on the steps of
the gloomy house in Red Cock Street, rose nearer and
nearer to the two men who were sitting over their
wine.

It was difficult to believe that this whistling and
chirping, trilling and cuckoo calling, came from the
same throat; but when the bird notes ceased just outside
the door, and Barbara, with bright mirthfulness and
the airiest grace, sang the refrain of the Chant des
Oiseaux, ’Car la saison est bonne’, bowing
gracefully meanwhile, the old enemy of the Turks fairly
beamed with delight.

His eyes, wet with tears of grateful joy, sought the
young man’s, and, though he had just warned
him plainly enough against courting his daughter,
his sparkling gaze now asked whether he had ever met
an equally bewitching marvel.

Page 43

“The deuce!” he cried out to his daughter
when she at last paused and extended her hand to him.
He leaned comfortably farther back in his arm-chair
as he spoke, but she kissed him lightly on the forehead,
while her large blue eyes shone with cheerful content.

She had gained her object.

When she sang this song she was safe from any troublesome
questions. Besides, Gombert, of Bruges, the director
of the imperial orchestra, who had arrived in Ratisbon
that very day, was the composer of the charming bird-song,
and she knew from her singing master that, though her
voice was best adapted to solemn hymns, nothing in
the whole range of secular music suited it better
than this “Car la saison est bonne.”
She longed for the praise of such a musician, and
Wolf must accompany her to him.

The young knight had not only been joyfully surprised,
but most deeply delighted by the bewitching execution
of this most charmingly arranged refrain.

Maestro Gombert and his colleague Appenzelder, the
conductor of the boy choir, must hear it on the morrow.
And how gladly Barbara consented to fulfil this wish!

She had received the greatest praise, she said, in
the motet of the Blessed Virgin, by Josquin de Pres,
in the noble song ’Ecce tu pulchra es’.
Her teacher specially valued this master and his countryman
Gombert, and his exquisite compositions were frequently
and gladly sung at the Convivium.

This pleased Wolf, for he had a right to call himself,
not only the pupil, but the friend of the director
of the orchestra. As, seizing the lute, he began
Gombert’s Shepherd and Shepherdess, Barbara,
unasked, commenced the song.

When, after Barbara’s bell-like, well-trained
voice had sung many other melodies, the young knight
at last took leave of his old friends, he whispered
that he had not expected to find home so delightful.

She, too, went to rest in a joyous, happy mood, and,
as she lay in her narrow bed, asked herself whether
she could not renounce her ardent longing for wealth
and splendour and be content with a modest life at
Wolf’s side.

She liked him, he would cherish her, and lovingly
devote the great skill which he had gained in Italy
and the Netherlands to the final cultivation of her
voice. Her house would become a home of art, her
life would be pervaded and ennobled by song and music.
What grander existence could earth offer?

Before she found an answer to this question, sleep
closed her weary eyes. But when, the next morning,
the cobbler’s one-eyed daughter, who, since
old Ursel’s illness, had done the rough work
in the chambers and kitchen, waked her, she speedily
changed her mind. It was hard to rise early after
the day’s ironing and the late hour at which
she had retired, and, besides, when Barbara returned
from mass, the maid reported that Frau Lerch had been
there and left the message that Fran Itzenweck wanted
the laces which had been promised to her early that
day.

Page 44

So Barbara was obliged to go to work again immediately
after the early breakfast. But, while she was
loosening the laces from the pins and stirring her
slender white fingers busily for the wretched pittance,
her soul was overflowing with thoughts of the most
sublime works of music, and the desire for success,
homage, and a future filled with happiness and splendour.

Vehement repugnance to the humble labour to which
necessity forced her was like a bitter taste in her
mouth, and, ere she had folded the last strips of
lace, she turned her back to the work-table and pressed
both hands upon her bosom, while from the inmost depths
of her tortured soul came the cry: “I will
never bear it! In one way or another I will put
an end to this life of beggary.”

Thanks to old Ursel’s care, Wolf had found his
bed made and everything he needed at hand in his foster
parents’ deserted lodging. To avoid disturbing
the sick woman, he removed his shoes in the entry,
and then glided into his former little room.
Weariness had soon closed his eyes also, but only
for a few hours. His fevered blood, fear, and
hope drove him from his couch at the first dawn of
morning.

Ere returning to the two men the evening before, Barbara
had hastily spoken to Ursula, and brought her whatever
she preferred to receive from her hands rather than
those of the one-eyed maid who spent the night with
her—­her Sunday cap and a little sealed package
which she kept in her chest. When Wolf tapped
at her door early the next morning, she was already
up, and had had her cap put on. This was intended
to give her a holiday appearance, but the expression
of her faithful eyes and the smile upon her sunken
mouth showed her darling that his return was a festival
to her.

The stroke of apoplexy which had attacked the woman
of seventy had been slight, and merely affected her
speech a little. But she found plenty of words
to show Wolf how happy it made her to see him again,
and to tell him about his foster parents’ last
illness and death.

The precentor and organist, aided by Bishop Pangraz
Sinzenhofer and Blasius, the captain of the city guard,
had endeavoured to collect the papers which proved
Wolf’s noble birth. The package that Barbara
handed to her the evening before contained the patent
of nobility newly authorized by King Frederick at
Vienna and the certificate of baptism which proved
him to be the only son of the Frank Knight Ullmann
Hartschwert and the Baroness Wendula Sandhof.

His mother’s family died with her; on his father’s
side, as the precentor had learned, he still had an
uncle, his father’s older brother, but his castle
had been destroyed during the Peasant War. He
himself had commanded for several years a large troop
of mercenaries in the service of the Queen of England,
and his three children, a son and two daughters, had
entered monastic and conventual life.

The contents of the package confirmed all these statements.
Moreover, the very Dr. Hiltner, of whom Barbara’s
father had spoken so disagreeably, had paid a visit
the day before to Ursel, who had won the esteem of
the preceptor’s old friend, and told her that
he wished to talk with Wolf about an important matter.

Page 45

It afforded the young man genuine pleasure to wait
upon the faithful old woman and give her her medicine
and barley-gruel. His mother had brought him
to Ratisbon when he was a little boy four years old,
and Ursel at that time had been his nurse. She
had clung more closely to him than the woman to whom
he owed his life, for his mother had deserted him to
take the veil in the convent of the Sisters of St.
Clare, but her maid-servant Ursel would not part from
him. So she was received by his foster parents
when they adopted him, and had served them faithfully
until their deaths.

The wrinkled countenance of the old woman, who, even
on her sick-bed, retained her neat appearance, expressed
shrewdness and energy.

Wolf’s services were a pleasure and an honour.
A grateful, affectionate glance acknowledged each,
and meanwhile he became clearly aware of the treasure
which he, the orphaned youth, possessed in this faithful
old friend.

If he saw aright, she might yet live a long time,
and this gave him heartfelt joy. With her he
would lose the last witness of his childhood, the
chronicle, as it were, of his earliest youth.
He could not understand why he had never before induced
her to tell him her recollections.

During his boyhood, which was crowded with work, he
had been content when she told him in general outlines
that, during the Peasant War, fierce bands had attacked
his father’s castle, that one of his own bondmen
had slain him with an axe, and that his mother had
fled with Wolf to Ratisbon, where her brother lived
as provost of the cathedral. He had invited her,
at the outbreak of the peasant insurrection, to place
herself under his protection.

The old woman had also described to him how, amid
great hardships, they had reached the city in midwinter,
and finally that his mother found Baron Sandhof, her
brother, at the point of death, and, after her hope
of having a home with the provost of the cathedral
was baffled, she had taken the veil in the convent
of the Dominicans, called here the Black Penitents.
Wolf’s foster father, the organist Stenzel, who
was closely connected with his uncle, had rendered
this step easier for the deserted widow by receiving
the little boy in his childless home.

Ursel must give him more minute particulars concerning
all these things.

His mother, who knew that he was well cared for, had
troubled herself very little about him, and devoted
her life to the care of her own salvation and that
of her murdered husband, who had died without the
benefit of the holy sacrament.

When he was fifteen, she closed her eyes on the world,
and the hour when, on her death bed, she had asked
of him a vow to be faithful to the Catholic Church
and shut his heart against heresy, was as vividly before
his memory as if she had just passed away.

He did not allude to these things now, for his heart
urged him to confide to the faithful old woman what
he thought of Barbara, and the beautiful hopes with
which he had left her.

Page 46

Ursel closed her eyes for a while and twirled the
thumb of the hand she could use around the other for
some time; but at last she gently nodded the little
head framed in her big cap, and said carelessly:

“So you would like to seek a wife, child?
Well, well! It comes once to every one.
And you are thinking of Wawerl? It would certainly
be fortunate for the girl. Marriages are made
in heaven, and God’s mills grind slowly.
If the result is not what you expect, you must not
murmur, and, above all things, don’t act rashly.
But now I can use my heavy tongue no longer.
Remember Dr. Hiltner. When duty will permit, you’ll
find time for another little chat with old Ursel.”

Casting a loving farewell glance at Wolf as she spoke,
she turned over on the other side.

As his footsteps receded from her bedside, she pressed
her lips more firmly together, thinking: “Why
should I spoil his beautiful dream of happiness?
What Wawerl offers to the eyes and ears of men is certainly
most beautiful. But her heart! It is lacking!
Unselfish love would be precisely what the early orphaned
youth needs, and that Wawerl will never give him.
Yet I wish no heavier anxieties oppressed me!
One thing is certain—­the husband of the
girl upstairs must wear a different look from my darling,
with his modest worth. The Danube will flow uphill
before she goes to the altar with him! So, thank
Heaven, I can console myself with that!”

But, soon after, she remembered many things which
she had formerly believed impossible, yet which, through
unexpected influence, had happened.

Then torturing uneasiness seized her. She anxiously
clasped her emaciated hands, and from her troubled
bosom rose the prayer that the Lord would preserve
her darling from the fulfilment of the most ardent
desire of his heart.

CHAPTER VIII.

Wolf’s first walk took him to the Golden Cross,
the lodgings of the Emperor Charles and his court.
The sky had clouded again, and a keen northwest wind
was blowing across the Haidplatz and waving the banner
on the lofty square battlemented tower at the right
of the stately old edifice.

It had originally belonged to the Weltenburg family
as a strong offensive and defensive building, then
frequently changed hands.

The double escutcheon on the bow-window was that of
the Thun and Fugger von Reh families, who had owned
it in Wolf’s childhood.

Now he glanced up to see whether young Herr Crafft,
to whom the building now belonged, had not also added
an ornament to it. But when Wolf’s gaze
wandered so intently from the tower to the bow-window,
and from the bow-window to the great entrance door,
it was by no means from pleasure or interest in the
exterior of the Golden Cross, but because Barbara had
confessed that the nineteen-year-old owner of the edifice,
who was still a minor, was also wooing her.

Page 47

What was the probable value of this stately structure,
this aristocratic imperial abode? How rich its
owner was! yet she, the brilliant young beauty who
had grown up in poverty, disdained young Crafft because
her heart did not attract her to him.

So, in this case, faithful Ursel must deceive herself
and misjudge the girl, for the old woman’s strangely
evasive words had revealed plainly enough that she
did not consider Barbara the right wife for him.

The good people of Ratisbon could not understand this
rare creature! Her artist nature gave her peculiar,
unusual traits of character, which were distasteful
to the ways of German burghers. Whatever did not
fit the usual forms, whatever surpassed ordinary models,
was regarded with distrust. He himself had scarcely
been able to understand how a girl so free and independent
in her feelings, and probably also in her actions,
such a mistress of the art of singing, whose performances
fulfilled the highest demands, could have bloomed
and matured in this environment.

Old Ursel’s evasion had wounded and troubled
him; the thoughts associated with the double escutcheon
on the bow-window, however, revived the clouded feeling
of happiness, and, with head erect, he passed the guards
at the entrance and went into the corridor, which was
again crowded with lords and ladies of the court,
priests of all ranks, knights, pages, and servants.

His position gave him access to the Queen of Hungary’s
apartments without delay—­nay, he might
hope to be received by her Majesty sooner than many
of the knights, lords and ladies, ecclesiastical and
secular dignitaries who were waiting there; the stewards,
chamberlains and heralds, the ladies of the court,
pages, and lackeys knew that the royal lady not only
summoned Sir Wolf Hartschwert frequently, but welcomed
his presence.

Nearly all were Spaniards or natives of the Netherlands,
and it was fortunate for Wolf, on the one hand, that
he had learned their language quickly and well in
Italy and Brussels, and, on the other, that his birth
entitled him to a place with nobles who had the rank
of knights.

How formal and stiffly precise everything was here!
How many backs bowed low, how softly bombastic, high-sounding
words were murmured! It seemed as if every free,
warm impulse would lapse into stiffness and coldness;
moreover, those assembled here were not the poor petitioners
of other antechambers, but lords and ladies who belonged
to the most illustrious and aristocratic families,
while among the waiting ecclesiastics there was many
a prelate with the dignified bearing of a bishop.

Some of the Netherlanders alone frequently threw off
the constraint which fettered all, and one even turned
with the gayest ease from one person to another.
This was Baron Malfalconnet, one of the Emperor’s
major-domos. He was permitted to do what no one
else ventured, for his cheerfulness and wit, his gift
of story-telling, and sharp tongue often succeeded
in dispelling the clouds of melancholy from the brow
of his imperial master.

Page 48

At Wolf’s entrance the baron greeted him with
merry banter, and then whispered to him that the regent
was expecting him in her private room, where the leaders
of the newly arrived musicians had already gone.
As Wolf belonged to the “elect,” he would
conduct him to her Majesty before “the called”
who were here in the waiting room.

As he spoke he delivered him to the Emperor’s
confidential secretary, Gastelu, whom Wolf had often
aided in the translation of German letters, and the
latter ushered him into the Queen’s reception
room.

It was the royal lady’s sleeping apartment,
a moderately wide, unusually deep chamber, looking
out upon the Haidplatz. The walls were hung with
Flanders Gobelin tapestry, whose coloured pictures
represented woodland landscapes and hunters.
The Queen’s bed stood halfway down the long wall
at the right.

Little could be seen of her person, for heavy gold-embroidered
damask curtains hung around the wide, lofty bedstead,
falling from the canopy projecting, rootlike, above
the top, where gilded child genii bore a royal crown.
On the side toward the room the curtains were drawn
back far enough to allow those who were permitted
to approach the regent to see her head and the upper
portion of her body, which was wrapped in an ermine
cape.

She leaned in a sitting posture against a pile of
white satin pillows, and her thick locks, interwoven
with strings of pearls, bore witness to the skill
of the maid who had combed and curled them so artistically
and adorned them with a heron’s plume.
Two beautiful English pointers and a slender hound
were moving about and sometimes disturbed the repose
of the two Wachtersbach badger dogs, who were trained
to keep side by side everywhere—­in the
room as well as in hunting. When the door opened
they only raised their sagacious little heads with
a low growl.

The other living beings who had obtained admittance
to the Queen’s chamber at so early an hour were
constrained by etiquette to formal, silent quiescence.
Only the ladies in waiting and the chamberlains moved
to and fro unasked, but they also stepped lightly and
graduated the depth of the bow with which they greeted
each individual to suit his or her rank, while the
pages used their nimble feet, whose tread silken shoes
rendered noiseless, lightly and carelessly.

The features of most of the persons present expressed
reverence and expectation. But although, on account
of the clouded sky and the small window panes, the
rear of the deep apartment especially was only dimly
lighted, the impression produced was neither gloomy
nor depressing. This was prevented by the swift
movements of the pages, the shrill screams of the
gay parrots at the window, the paraphernalia of the
chase hung on the wall, and especially by the regent
herself, whose clear voice broke the silence with
gay unconcern, and exerted a redeeming influence upon
the constraint of the listeners.

She had just received the Bishop of Hildesheim, the
Prince of Savoy, and the Countess Tassis, but gave
each only a brief audience, for the entrance of the
conductor of the orchestra had not escaped her attention.

Page 49

Several other personages of the highest rank were
still among the waiting group, and her chamberlain,
Count Hochstraaten, asked in a low tone whether she
would deign to receive the Count Palatine von Simmern;
but she was determined to close the audience, for
Wolf Hartschwert had entered the room, and the subjects
which she desired to discuss with him and the musicians
would permit no witnesses.

So, without answering Hochstraaten’s question,
she turned her face toward the chamber, and said,
loudly enough to be heard by all present:

“This reception must suffice for to-day!
Whoever does not know that I used last night in his
Majesty’s service for a better purpose than sleep
will deem me a lazy sluggard. Would to Heaven
I had no worse fault! The rising sun sees me
more frequently at my station in the hunting grounds
than it does many of you, my honoured friends, at the
breakfast table. So, Hochstraaten, be kind enough
to tell the ladies and gentlemen who have given me
the pleasure of their visits, that their patience shall
be less severely tried this evening before vespers.”

While speaking, she beckoned to the Marquise de Leria,
her oldest lady in waiting, and, as the latter bent
her aged back to adjust the pillows, the Queen whispered
to her to detain the conductor of the orchestra and
Sir Wolf Hartschwert.

The order was instantly obeyed, but some time elapsed
ere the last of those who had sought an audience left
the room, for, although the regent vouchsafed no one
a glance, but turned the pages of a note-book which
had been lying on the little table at the head of
her bed, each person, before crossing the threshold,
bowed toward the couch in the slow, formal manner
which etiquette dictated.

As soon as Queen Mary found herself alone with the
musicians and the marquise, she beckoned graciously
to the former, but with familiar kindness to Wolf,
and asked for a brief account of his journey.
Then she confessed that the Emperor’s sufferings
and melancholy mood had induced her to subject them
to the discomforts of the trip to Ratisbon. His
Majesty was ignorant of their presence, but she anticipated
the most favourable result upon her royal brother,
who so warmly loved and keenly appreciated music,
if he could hear unexpectedly the finest melodies,
sometimes inspiring, sometimes cheering in tone.

Her inquiry whether his Majesty’s orchestra
and her own boys would be able to give a performance
that evening was eagerly answered in the affirmative
by Maestro Gombert, the conductor of the orchestra,
and Benedictus Appenzelder, conductor of the boy choir,
who was in her personal service. She expressed
her pleasure in the knowledge, and then proposed to
surprise the Emperor at the principal meal, about midnight,
with Jacob Hobrecht’s Missa Graecorum, whose
magnificent profundity his Majesty especially admired.

Page 50

Gombert forced himself to keep silence, but the significant
smile on his delicate, beardless lips betrayed what
he thought of this selection. The conductor of
the boy choir was franker. He slightly shook his
ponderous head, whose long, gray hair was parted in
the middle, and then honestly admitted, in his deep
tones, that the Missa Graecorum seemed to him too
majestic and gloomy for this purpose. Wolf, too,
disapproved of the Queen’s suggestion for the
same reason, and, though she pointed out that she
had chosen this composition precisely on account of
its deep religious earnestness, the former persisted
in his opposition, and modestly mentioned the melody
which would probably be best suited for a surprise
at his imperial Majesty’s repast.

Maestro Gombert had recently composed a Benedictio
Mensae for four voices, and, as it was one of his
most effective creations, had never been executed,
and therefore would be entirely new to the Emperor,
it was specially adapted to introduce the concert
with which the monarch was to be surprised at table.

The Queen would have preferred that a religious piece
should commence the musical performance, but assented
to Wolf’s proposal. Gombert himself dispelled
her fear that his composition would be purely secular
in character, and Wolf upheld him by singing to the
musical princess, to the accompaniment of the lute,
snatches of the principal theme of the Benedictio,
which had impressed itself upon his faithful memory.

Gombert assisted him, but Appenzelder stroked his
long beard, signifying his approval by nods and brief
exclamations of satisfaction. The Queen was now
sincerely glad that this piece of music had been brought
to her notice; certainly nothing more suitable for
the purpose could have been found. Besides, her
kindly nature and feminine tact made her grateful to
Wolf for his hint of distinguishing, by the first performance
of one of his works, the able conductor and fine composer
upon whom she had imposed so fatiguing a journey.

She would gladly have given Appenzelder also some
token of her favour, but she could not have used any
of his compositions—­the most famous of
which was a dirge—­upon this occasion, and
the blunt long-beard frankly admitted this, and declared
unasked that he desired nothing better than to offer
his Majesty, with the Benedictio, the first greeting
of Netherland music.

Gombert’s bearing was that of an aristocrat,
his lofty brow that of a thinker, and his mobile mouth
rendered it easy to perceive what a wealth of joyous
mirth dwelt within the soul of this artist, who was
equally distinguished in grave and gay moods.

Queen Mary was by no means blind to these merits,
and lamented the impossibility of being on more familiar
terms of intercourse with him and his colleague of
the boy choir. But both were of humble birth,
and from childhood custom had prohibited her, as well
as the other female members of her family, from associating
with persons who did not belong to the nobility.
So there was no place for either in her household.

Page 51

Rough Appenzelder regarded this as fortunate; Gombert
thought it a matter of course because custom so ordained.

The stimulus which the Queen could expect from Wolf
Hartschwert was certainly far less deep and varied;
yet to him who, as a knight, belonged to her train,
she granted many favours which she denied the famous
Gombert. Besides, Wolf’s musical knowledge
was as remarkable as his usefulness as a secretary.
Lastly, his equable disposition, his unerring sense
of propriety, and his well-proved fidelity had gained
the full confidence of the royal lady.

By the side of the two composers and leaders of the
musicians he looked almost boyish, yet, as the regent
was overburdened with affairs of state, she confided
to him alone the care of the further success of the
surprise.

He was familiar with the rooms of the Golden Cross,
and before midnight would have posted the singers
and musicians so that his Majesty would first learn
through his ears the pleasure which they intended to
bestow upon him.

CHAPTER IX.

The Queen’s commission imposed upon Wolf a long
series of inspections, inquiries, orders, and preparations,
the most important of which detained him a long time
at the Golden Cross.

After he had done what was necessary there, he hastily
took a lunch, and then went to the house of the Golden
Stag. The steward of the Schiltl family, to whom
the house belonged, but who were now in the country,
had given the boy choir shelter there, and Wolf was
obliged to inform the leader of his arrangements.
Appenzelder had intended to practise exercises with
his young pupils in the chapel belonging to this old
house, familiar to all the inhabitants of Ratisbon,
but Wolf found it empty. On the other hand, young,
clear voices echoed from a room in the lower story.

The door stood half open, and, before he crossed the
threshold, he had heard with surprise the members
of the boy choir, lads ranging from twelve to fifteen,
discussing how they should spend the leisure time
awaiting them.

The ringleader, Giacomo Bianchi, from Bologna, was
asserting that “the old bear”—­he
meant Appenzelder—­“would never permit
the incomplete choir to sing before the Emperor and
his royal sister.”

“So we shall have the afternoon,” he exclaimed.
“The grooms will give me a horse, and after
dinner I, and whoever cares to go with me, will ride
back to the village where we last stopped. What
do I want there? I’ll get the kiss which
the tavernkeeper’s charming little daughter owes
me. Her sweet mouth and fair braids with the
bows of blue ribbon—­I saw nothing prettier
anywhere!”

“Sweet enough,” remarked little thick-set
Cornelius Groen from Breda, in broken Italian.
“Yet you surely are not thinking of that silly
girl, with her flaxen braids, but of the nice honey
and the light white pastry she brought us. If
we can get that again, I’ll ride there with you.”

Page 52

“I won’t,” protested Wilhelm Haldema,
from Leuwarden in Friesland. “I shall go
down to the river with my pole. It’s swarming
with fish.”

Wolf had remained concealed until this moment.
Now he entered the huge apartment.

The boys rushed toward him with joyous ease, and,
as they crowded around him, asking all sorts of questions,
it was evident that he possessed their affection and
confidence.

He kindly motioned to them to keep silence, and asked
what induced them to expect leisure time on that day,
when, by the exertion of all their powers, they were
to display their skill in the presence of their mistress
and the Emperor.

The answer was not delayed—­nay, it sprang
from many young lips at the same time. Unfortunately,
its character was such that Wolf scarcely ventured
to hope for the full success of the surprise.

Johann of Cologne and Benevenuto Bosco of Catania,
in Sicily, the two leaders and ornaments of the choir,
were so very ill that their recovery could scarcely
be expected even within the next few days. The
native of Cologne had been attacked on the way by
a hoarseness which made the fifteenyear-old lad uneasy,
because signs of the approaching change of voice had
already appeared.

The break meant to the extremely musical youth, who
had been distinguished by the bell-like purity of
his tones, the loss of his well-paid position in the
boy choir, which, for his poor mother’s sake,
he must retain as long as possible. So, with mingled
grief and hope, he dipped deeply into his slender
purse when, at Neumarkt, where the travelling musicians
spent the night just at the time the annual fair was
held, he met a quack who promised to help him.

This extremely talkative old man, who styled himself
“Body physician to many distinguished princes
and courts,” boasted of possessing a secret
remedy of the famous Bartliolomaus Anglicus, which,
besides other merits, also had the power of bestowing
upon a harsh voice the melody of David’s harp.

Still, the young native of Cologne delayed some time
before using the nostrum. Not until the hoarseness
increased alarmingly did he in his need take the leech’s
prescription, and Benevenuto Bosco, whom he had admitted
to his confidence, and who also felt a certain rawness
in his throat, since beyond Nuremberg one shower of
rain after another had drenched the travellers, asked
him to let him use the medicine also.

At first both thought that they felt a beneficial
result; but soon their condition changed for the worse,
and their illness constantly increased.

On reaching Ratisbon they were obliged to go to bed,
and a terrible night was followed by an equally bad
morning.

When Appenzelder returned from the audience at the
Golden Cross, he found his two best singers in so
pitiable a condition that he was obliged to summon
the Emperor’s leech, Dr. Mathys, to the sufferers.

The famous physician was really under obligations
to remain near the sovereign at this time of day.
Yet he had gone at once to the Stag, and pronounced
the patients there to be the victims of severe poisoning.

Page 53

A Ratisbon colleague, whom he found with the sufferers,
was to superintend the treatment which he prescribed.

He had left the house a short time before. Master
Appenzelder, Wolf heard from the choir boys, was now
with the invalids, and the knight set off to inquire
about them at once.

He had forbidden the idle young singers who wanted
to go with him to follow, but one had secretly slipped
after, and, in one of the dark corridors of the big
house, full of nooks and corners, he suddenly heard
a voice call his name. Ere he was aware of it,
little Hannibal Melas, a young Maltese in the boy
choir, whose silent, reserved nature had obtained
for him from the others the nickname Tartaruga, the
tortoise, seized his right hand in both his own.

It was done with evident excitement, and his voice
sounded eagerly urgent as he exclaimed:

“I fix my last hope on you, Sir Knight, for
you see there is scarcely one of the others who would
not have an intercessor. But I! Who would
trouble himself about me? Yet, if you would only
put in a good word, my time would surely come now.”

“Yes, indeed! What Johann of Cologne or
at least what Benevenuto can do, I can trust myself
to do too. The master need only try it with me,
and, now that both are ill, put me in place of one
or the other.”

Wolf, who knew what each individual chorister could
do, shook his head, and began to tell the boy from
Malta for what good reason the master preferred the
two sick youths; but little Hannibal interrupted by
exclaiming, in tones of passionate lamentation:

“So you are the same? The master having
begun it, all misjudge and crush me! Instead
of giving me an opportunity to show what I can do in
a solo part, I am forced back into the crowd.
My best work disappears in the chorus. And yet,
Sir Wolf, in spite of all, I heard the master’s
own lips say in Brussels—­I wasn’t
listening—­that he had never heard what lends
a woman’s voice its greatest charm come so softly
and tenderly from the throat of a boy. Those
are his own words. He will not deny them, for
at least he is honest. What is to become of the
singing without Johann and Benevenuto? But if
they would try me, and at least trust a part of Bosco’s
music to me—­”

Here he stopped, for Master Appenzelder was just coming
from the door of the sick-room into the corridor;
but Wolf, with a playful gesture, thrust his fingers
through the lad’s bushy coal-black hair, turned
him in the direction from which he came, and called
after him, “Your cause is in good hands, you
little fellow with the big name.”

Then, laying his hand on the arm of the deeply troubled
musician, and pointing to the boy who was trotting,
full of hope, down the corridor, he said: “‘Hannibal
ante portas!’ A cry of distress that is full
of terror; but the Maltese Hannibal who is vanishing
yonder gave me an idea which will put an end to your
trouble, my dear Maestro. The sooner the two
poisoned lads recover the better, of course; yet the
Benedictio Mensae need not remain unsung on account
of their heedlessness, for little Hannibal showed
me the best substitute.”

Page 54

This promise flowed from Wolf’s lips with such
joyous confidence that the grave musician’s
sombre face brightened; but it swiftly darkened again,
and he exclaimed, “We don’t give such hasty
work!” When the knight tried to tell him what
he had in mind, the other brusquely interrupted with
the request that he would first aid him in a more
important matter. Wolf was acquainted with the
city, and perhaps would spare him a walk by informing
him where the sick lads would find the best shelter.
The Stag was overcrowded, and he was reluctant to
leave the poor fellows in the little sleeping room
which they shared with their companions. The Ratisbon
physician had ordered them to be sent to the hospital;
but the boy from Cologne opposed it so impetuously
that he, Appenzelder, thought it his duty to seek
another shelter for the sufferers.

When Wolf with the older man entered the low, close
chamber, he found the lad, a handsome, vigorous boy,
with his fair, curling hair tossed in disorder around
his fevered face, standing erect in his bed. While
the doctor was trying to compel him to obey and enter
the litter which stood waiting for him, he beat him
back with his strong young fists. He would rather
jump into the open grave or into the rushing river,
he shrieked to the corpulent leech, than be dragged
into the hospital, which was the plague, death, hell.

He emphasized his resistance with heavy blows, while
his Italian companion in suffering, livid, ashen-gray,
with bowed head and closed lids, permitted himself
to be placed in the litter without moving.

At Wolf’s entrance the German youth, like a
drowning man who sees a friend on the shore, shrieked
an entreaty to save him from the murderers who wanted
to drag him to death. The young knight gazed compassionately
at the lad’s flushed face, and, after a brief
pause of reflection, proposed committing the sufferers
to the care of the Knights Hospitallers.

This removed the burden from the young Rhinelander’s
tortured soul, yet he insisted, with passionate impetuosity,
upon having his master and the nobleman accompany
him, that the physician whom, in his fevered fancy,
he regarded as his mortal foe, should not drag him
to the pest-house after all.

Both musicians yielded to his wish. On the way
Appenzelder held the lad’s burning hand in his
own, and never wearied of talking affectionately to
him. Not until after he had seen his charges,
with the physician’s assistance, comfortably
lodged, and had left the house of the Hospitallers,
did he permit himself to test the almost incredible
news which Sir Wolf Hartschwert had brought him.

With what fiery zeal Wolf persuaded him, how convincing
was his assurance that a substitute for Johann of
Cologne, and a most admirable one, was actually to
be found here in Ratisbon!

He had no need to seek for fitting words in the description
of Barbara Blomberg, the melody of her voice, and
her admirable training. The fact that she was
a woman, he protested, need not be considered, nay,
it might be kept secret. The Church, it is true,
prohibited the assistance of women, but the matter
here was simply the execution of songs in a private
house.

Page 55

At first Appenzelder listened grumbling, and shaking
his head in dissent, but soon the proposal seemed
worth heeding; nay, when he heard that the singer,
whose talent and skill the quiet, intelligent German
praised so highly, owed her training to his countryman,
Damian Feys, whom he knew, he began to ask questions
with, increasing interest. But, ere Wolf had
answered the first queries, some one else made his
appearance on the Haid, and the very person who was
best fitted to give information about Barbara—­her
teacher, Feys, who had sought Gombert, his famous Brussels
companion in art, and was just taking him to a rehearsal
of the Convivium musicum. At this meeting the
leader of the boy choir, in spite of his pleasure
at seeing his valued countryman and companion in art,
showed far less patience than before, for, after the
first greeting, he at once asked Feys what he thought
of his pupil Barbara. The answer was so favourable
that Appenzelder eagerly accepted the invitation to
attend the rehearsal also. So the four fellow-artists
crossed the Haidplatz together, and Maestro Gombert
was obliged to remind his colleague of the boy choir
that people who occupied the conductor’s desk
forgot to run on a wager.

Wolf’s legs were by no means so long as those
of the tall, broad musician, yet, in his joyous excitement,
it was an easy matter to keep pace with him.
In the happy consciousness of meriting the gratitude
of the woman whom he loved, he gazed toward the New
Scales, the large building beneath whose roof she
whose image filled his heart and mind must already
have found shelter.

Did she see him coming? Did she suspect who his
companions were, and what awaited her through them?

Yet, sharply as he watched for her, he could discover
no sign of her fair head behind any of the windows.

Yet Barbara, from the little room where the singers
laid aside their cloaks and wraps, had seen Wolf,
with her singing master Feys and two other gentlemen,
coming toward the New Scales, and correctly guessed
the names of the slender, shorter stranger in the
sable-trimmed mantle and the big, broad-shouldered,
bearded one who accompanied her friend. Wolf
had described them both, and a presentiment told her
that something great awaited her through them.

Gombert was the composer of the bird-song, and, as
she remembered how the refrain of this composition
had affected Wolf the day before, she heard the door
close behind the group.

Then the desire to please, which had never left her
since she earned the first applause, seized upon her
more fiercely than ever.

Of what consequence were the listeners before whom
she had hitherto sung compared with those whose footsteps
were now echoing on the lowest stairs? And, half
animated by an overpowering secret impulse, she sang
the refrain “Car la saison est bonne” aloud
while passing the stairs on her way into the dancing
hall, where the rehearsal was to take place.

Page 56

What an artless delight in the fairest, most pleasing
thing in Nature to a sensitive young human soul this
simple sentence voiced to the Netherland musicians!
It seemed to them as if the song filled the dim, cold
corridor with warmth and sunlight. Thus Gombert
had heard within his mind the praise of spring when
he set it to music, but had never before had it thus
understood by any singer, reproduced by any human voice.

The excitable man stood as if spellbound; only a curt
“My God! my God!” gave expression to his
emotion. The blunter Appenzelder, on the contrary,
when the singer suddenly paused and a door closed behind
her, exclaimed: “The deuce, that’s
fine!—­If that were your helper in need,
Sir Wolf, all would be well!”

“It is,” replied Wolf proudly, with sparkling
eyes; but the honest old fellow rushed after Barbara,
held out both hands to her in his frank, cordial way,
and cried:

“Thanks, heartfelt thanks, my dear, beautiful
young lady! But if you imagine that this drop
of nectar will suffice, you are mistaken. You
have awakened thirst! Now see—­and
Gombert will thank you too—­that it is quenched
with a fuller gift of this drink of the gods.”

The Netherlanders found the table spread, and this
rehearsal of the Convivium musicum brought Barbara
Blomberg the happiest hours which life had ever bestowed.

She saw with a throbbing heart that her singing not
only pleased, but deeply stirred the heart of the
greatest composer of his time, whose name had filled
her with timid reverence, and that, while listening
to her voice, the eyes of the sturdy Appenzelder,
who looked as if his broad breast was steeled against
every soft emotion, glittered with tears.

This had happened during the execution of Josquin
de Pres’s “Ecce tu pulchra es’.”

Barbara’s voice had lent a special charm to
this magnificent motet, and, when she concluded the
“Quia amore langueo”—­“Because
I yearn for love”—­to which she had
long given the preference when she felt impelled to
relieve her heart from unsatisfied yearning, she had
seen Gombert look at the choir leader, and understood
the “inimitable” which was not intended
for her, but for his fellow-artist.

Hitherto she had done little without pursuing a fixed
purpose, but this time Art, and the lofty desire to
serve her well, filled her whole being. In the
presence of the most famous judges she imposed the
severest demands upon herself. Doubtless she
was also glad to show Wolf what she could do, yet
his absence would not have diminished an iota of what
she gave the Netherlanders. She felt proud and
grateful that she belonged to the chosen few who are
permitted to express, by means of a noble art, the
loftiest and deepest feelings in the human breast.
Had not Appenzelder been compelled to interrupt the
rehearsal, she would gladly have sung on and on to
exhaustion.

She did not yet suspect what awaited her when, in
well-chosen yet cordial words, Gombert expressed his
appreciation.

Page 57

She neither saw nor heard the fellow-singers who surrounded
her; nay, when Dr. Hiltner, the syndic’s, daughter,
seventeen years old, who had long looked up to her
with girlish enthusiasm, pressed forward to her side,
and her charming mother, sincerely pleased, followed
more quietly, when others imitated their example and
expressed genuine gratification or made pretty speeches,
Barbara scarcely distinguished the one from the other,
honest good will from bitter envy.

She did not fully recover her composure until Appenzelder
came up to her and held out his large hand.

Clasping it with a smile, she permitted the old musician
to hold her little right hand, while in a low tone,
pointing to Wolf, who had followed him, he said firmly:

“May I believe the knight? Would you be
induced to bestow your magnificent art upon an ardent
old admirer like myself, though to-day only as leader
of the voices in the boy choir—­”

Here Wolf, who had noticed an expression of refusal
upon Barbara’s lips, interrupted him by completing
the sentence with the words, addressed to her, “In
order to let his Majesty the Emperor enjoy what delights
us here?”

The blood receded from Barbara’s cheeks, and,
as she clung to the window-sill for support, it seemed
as though some magic spell had conveyed her to the
summit of the highest steeple. Below her yawned
the dizzy gulf of space, and the air was filled with
a rain of sceptres, crowns, and golden chains of honour
falling upon ermine and purple robes on the ground
below.

But after a few seconds this illusion vanished, and,
ere Wolf could spring to the assistance of the pallid
girl, she was already passing her kerchief across
her brow.

Then, drawing a long breath, she gave the companion
of her childhood a grateful glance, and said to Appenzelder:

“Dispose of my powers as you deem best,”
adding, after a brief pause, “Of course, with
my father’s consent.”

Appenzelder, as if rescued, shook her hand again,
this time with so strong a pressure that it hurt her.
Yet her blue eyes sparkled as brightly as if her soul
no longer had room for pain or sorrow. After
Barbara had made various arrangements with the choir
leader, it seemed to her as though the sunny, blissful
spring, which her song had just celebrated so exquisitely,
had also made its joyous entry into the narrow domain
of her life.

On the way home she thanked the friend who accompanied
her with the affectionate warmth of the days of her
childhood, nay, even more eagerly and tenderly; and
when, on reaching the second story of the cantor house,
he took leave of her, she kissed his cheek, unasked,
calling down the stairs as she ran up:

“There is your reward! But, in return,
you will accompany me first to the rehearsal with
the singing boys, and then—­if you had not
arranged it yourself you would never believe it—­go
to the Golden Cross, to the Emperor Charles.”

Page 58

CHAPTER X.

The Emperor’s table was laid in one of the lower
rooms of the Golden Cross. The orchestra and
the boy choir had been stationed in Saint Leonhard’s
chapel. A wide door led from the consecrated chamber,
spanned by a vaulted roof, into the dining-room.
When it was opened, the music and singing would pour
in a full flood to those seated around the board.

Shortly before midnight everything in kitchen and
cellar was ready for the royal couple. The wax
candles and lamps were already lighted when Queen
Mary prepared to bring her imperial brother to the
surprise which she had planned, and whose influence
she eagerly anticipated.

The Emperor had received the last report half an hour
before, and then commissioned his physician, who had
again warned him against the excess of work, to protect
him from interruption—­he desired to have
an hour alone.

Dr. Mathys had fulfilled this order with the utmost
strictness. Even the English ambassador was dismissed.
The members of the royal household and the nobles
who during their stay in Ratisbon crowded around the
royal brother and sister, and even at this late hour
filled the rooms and corridors of the spacious building
with busy life, had been commanded to step lightly
and keep silent.

The lord chamberlain, Count Heinrich of Nassau, saw
that nothing was stirring near the apartment of his
imperial master, and the stewards, Quijada and Malfalconnet,
aided him. But they could not prevent the barking
of Queen Mary’s hunting dogs, and when their
royal mistress followed them to accompany her illustrious
brother to the dining-hall, Malfalconnet ventured
to remark that the lion, when he retires to solitude,
sometimes values rest more than the presence of even
the most beloved and adorable member of his noble
race; but the regent quickly retorted that she had
not yet reached lion hunting, but she knew that even
the king of beasts possessed a stomach, and would be
glad to have rest seasoned with dainty food.

“And a portion of it is the covered chiming
dish with which your Majesty’s love and wisdom
intends to surprise the illustrious epicure.”

While speaking, he cautiously opened the door of the
royal apartment, but the dogs were held back by the
pages who had carried the train of the festal robe.
Two others zealously aided her to throw the trailing
brocade across her arm, and in this manner she entered
her distinguished brother’s chamber.

This was so deep that a short walk was necessary to
reach the window near which the Emperor sat.
The office of lighting the vast room was assigned
to a dozen wax candles in a silver candelabrum, but
they were so inadequate to the task that neither the
mythological scenes on the Brabant Gobelin curtains
with which the walls were hung, nor the very scanty
furniture of the remainder of the long chamber could
be seen from the door.

Page 59

Thus the prevailing dusk concealed the surroundings
of the great monarch who was resting there, and the
only object visible to the entering Queen was his
figure illumined by the light. In her soul everything
else receded far behind the person, welfare, and pleasure
of this mighty sovereign. Yet she had already
crossed half the room, and her entrance still remained
unnoticed.

The Emperor Charles, with his forehead resting on
his hand, sat absorbed in thought before the papers
which had occupied his attention. How mournful
he looked, what sorrowful thoughts were doubtless again
burdening that anxious brain! Never before had
he seemed to his sister so old.

Perhaps it was the ceaseless planning and pondering
of the statesman and general which, during the last
few years, had thinned the light-brown hair at the
corners of the brow.

The resting ruler now seemed to have brought his mind
to repose also, for every emotion had vanished from
his pallid face. Even the sharply cut nostrils
of the long nose, which usually moved swiftly, were
perfectly still. The heavy chin, framed by a
thin, closely clipped beard, had sunk upon the high
ruff as if for support, and the thick, loosely hanging
lower lip appeared to have lost its elasticity.

In this hour of rest and relaxation this tireless
and successful sovereign, utterly exhausted, had even
relinquished seeming what he was; his brown hair framed
his brow and temples in a tangled, disordered mass;
the lacings of his velvet doublet were loosened; a
shabby woollen coverlet of anything but imperial appearance
was wound around his lower limbs, and the foot in
which the gout throbbed and ached rested on his sleeping
hound, and was wrapped in the cloths which his valet
Adrian found at hand after the Venetian ambassador,
the confessor, and the leech had left his master.

It pierced his sister to the heart to see her mighty
brother, upon whose dominions, it was said, the sun
never set, in this guise.

Her glance rested sorrowfully upon him a long time,
but even when she moved several paces nearer he retained
the same motionless rigidity which had seized upon
him and even communicated itself to the dog. The
animal knew the regent, and did not let her disturb
its repose.

Then a terrible fear assailed her, and the image of
the Cid Campeador who, mounted on horseback, went
swaying on his steed to meet the foe, rose before
her.

“Your Majesty,” then again “Your
Majesty,” she called in a low tone, that she
might not startle him; but the answer for which she
waited in breathless suspense did not come, and now
the anxious dread that filled her sisterly heart forced
from her lips the cry, “Carlos!” and once
more “Carlos!”

The dog stirred, and at the same time the Emperor
raised his bowed head and turned toward his sister.

Drawing a long breath, as if relieved from a heavy
burden, she hastened to his side, and, clasping his
delicately formed hand, kissed it with passionate
tenderness; but the Emperor withdrew it, saying with
a mournful smile, which gave his rigid countenance
a new and more winning expression, in the Castilian
language in which he always addressed her:

Page 60

“Why are you so agitated, Querida? Did
the sight of the silent brother alarm the sister?
Ay, darling, there are some things more terrible than
the wild boar at which the brave huntress hurls her
spear. Our mother’s bequest——­”

Queen Mary, with hands outstretched beseechingly,
bowed the knee before him; but he raised her with
more strength than would have been expected from him
just before, and, sighing faintly, continued:

“There are hours, Mary, when the demon that
overpowered the mother stretches his talons toward
the son also. But, in spite of his satanic origin,
he is a cowardly wight, and a loving face, a tender
word, drives him away.”

“Then may my coming be blessed!” she answered
warmly. “Yet it can scarcely be a demon
or any being of mortal mould that is spoiling the
life happiness of my beloved brother and sovereign
lord. After all, they are tolerably alike in
the main point, and what semblance would the son of
hell wear that dares to assail the most powerful and
vigorous mind of all the ages, and yet is seized with
panic terror at the glance of a feeble woman?
Whoever knows the anxieties which have recently burdened
your Majesty, and the wide range of the decision to
which the course of events is urging you, can not
wonder if, as just now, your cheerful spirits desert
you. No demons or evil creatures of that sort,
Heaven knows, are needed to accomplish it.”

“Certainly not,” replied the Emperor.
“Yet it does not matter what name is borne by
the unconquerable power which poisons with horrible
images the few hours of repose allotted to the solitary
man who is bereft of love and joy. But let us
drop the subject! When you appear and raise your
voice, it seems as though all gloomy thoughts heard
the view hallo which drives your stags and roes back
into their coverts, Mary. I suppose you have
come to summon me to the table?”

The Queen assented, and now he could not prevent her
kissing his hand. Then she seized the dainty
little bell on the table to ring for the valet Adrian;
but the Emperor Charles stopped her with the exclamation:

“Never mind him. I will go with you as
I am, if you do not object to sharing your meal with
such a scarecrow of a man. Only permit me to lock
up these papers.”

“From Rome?” asked the regent eagerly.

“That is easily discerned,” replied the
Emperor. “New and amazingly favourable
promises. Nothing is required of me except the
trifling obligation to allow the Protestants nothing
in religious affairs which the Pope or the Council
do not approve. If I agree to accept the promises,
every one will think that I have the advantage, and
yet, if the contract is made, it is tearing from the
sky the political polestar of many a lustrum, and
burying one of my clearest, ripest, most sacred hopes.”

Page 61

Here the startled Queen interrupted him: “That
would surely, inevitably be the evil fruit which would
grow from such a treaty. It would deliver to
the Pope, with fettered hands, this very Council which
your Majesty so confidently expected would remove
or diminish, in orderly methods, the abuses which
are urging so many Christians to abandon the Catholic
Church. How often I have heard even her most faithful
sons acknowledge that such abuses exist! But
if you make the alliance, the self-interest of the
hierarchy will know how to prevent the introduction
of even a single vigorous amendment, and, instead
of the conqueror of the hydra of abuse, your Majesty
will render yourself its guardian.”

“And,” added the Emperor affectionately—­he
still retained his seat at the writing table—­“this
alliance, moreover, would force me to the painful
necessity of opposing the earnest wish of the dearest,
fairest, and wisest of my sisters.”

“Because it would render war with the evangelical
princes inevitable,” cried the Queen excitedly.
“Oh, your Majesty, you know that the heretical
movement, which is making life a burden to me in my
provinces, is going much too far for me, as well as
for you here in Germany; nay, that it is hateful to
me, because I value nothing more than our holy Church,
her greatness and unity. But would it really
redound to her welfare if the schism now existing,
and which you yourself expected to heal through the
Council, should by this very Council be embittered
and even perhaps perpetuated? For a long time
nothing has seemed to me more execrable than this
war. Your Majesty knows that, and therefore my
lord and brother can not be vexed with me if I remind
him of the hour when, a few months ago, he promised
to avoid it and do all in his power to bring what relates
to religious matters in these German countries to
a peaceful conclusion.”

The Emperor looked his sister full in the face, and,
while struggling to his feet, said with majestic dignity:

“And I have never given your Highness occasion
to doubt my word.” Then, changing his tone,
he continued kindly: “No means—­I
repeat it—­shall remain untried to preserve
peace. I am in earnest, child, though there are
now many reasons for breaking the promise. I put
them together on the long list yonder, and the Spaniards
at the court add new ones every hour. If you
care to know them——­”

Here he hesitated, because the gout in his foot gave
him a sharper twinge; but the Queen availed herself
of the pause to exclaim: “I think I am
aware of them. It is especially hard just now
for the statesman and soldier to keep the sword in
the sheath, because Rome offers more than ever, because
at the present time no serious opposition is to be
feared from the most important states, and because
the princes of the empire have neglected nothing which
could rouse the resentment of my imperial brother.
I know all this, and yet it is as firmly established
as Alpine mountains——­”

Page 62

Here a low laugh escaped the Emperor’s lips.

“The political course which could be thus firmly
established is to be found, you experienced regent,
only in one place—­the strong imagination
of a high hearted woman, who desires to accomplish
what she deems right. I, too, you may believe
me, am opposed to this war, and, as matters stand
now, the German renegades, rather than we, may expect
a glorious result. But, nevertheless, it may
happen that I shall be compelled to ask you to give
me back my promise.”

“I should like to see the person who could compel
my august brother to undertake anything against his
imperial will,” the Queen passionately interrupted.

“We will hope that this superior being may not
appear only too soon,” replied the Emperor,
smiling bitterly. “The invincible oppressor
bears the name of unexpected circumstances; I encountered
one of his harbingers to-day. There lie the documents.
Do you know to what those miserable papers force me,
the Emperor?—­ay, force, I repeat it.
To nothing less, Mary, than consciously to deal a
blow in the face of justice, whose defender I ought
and desire to be. I am not exaggerating, for I
am withdrawing a fratricide from the courts, nay,
am paving the way for him to evade punishment.”

“You mean Alfonso Diaz, who had his brother
murdered by a hired assassin because he abandoned
the holy Church and accepted the Lutheran religion,”
said the Queen sorrowfully. “Malvenda was
just telling me——­”

“He was the instigator of the crime,”
interrupted the Emperor. “Now he rejoices
in it as a deed well pleasing to God, and many thousands,
I know, agree with him. And I? Had Juan
Diaz been a German Johannes or Hans, the Emperor Charles
would have made Alfonso expiate his crime upon the
block this very day. But the brothers were Spaniards,
and that alters the case.”

With this sentence, which fell from his lips in firm,
resolute tones, his bearing regained its old decision,
and his eyes met his sister’s with a flashing
glance as he continued:

“The seed which here in the North, in carefully
prepared soil and under the fostering care of men
only too skilful and ready for conflict, took deep
root in the domain of religion, which we were obliged
to tolerate because it grew too rapidly and strongly
for us to extirpate or crush it without depopulating
a great empire and jeopardizing other very important
matters, would mean ruin to our Spain. Whoever
dared to transplant the heresy to her soil would be
the most infamous of the corrupters of a nation, for
the holy Church and the kingdom of Spain are one.
The mere thought of a Juan Diaz, who had absorbed
the heretical Lutheran doctrine here, returning home
to infect the hearts of the Castilians with its venom,
makes my blood boil also. Therefore, for the sake
of Spain, a higher justice compels me to offend the
secular one. The people beyond the Pyrenees shall
learn that, even for the brother, it is no sin, but
a duty, to shorten the life of the brother who abandoned
the holy Church. Let Alfonso Diaz strive to obtain
absolution. It will not be difficult. He
can sleep calmly, so far as the judges are concerned
who dispense justice in the name of Charles V.”

Page 63

As he spoke he waved his hand to repel the hound which,
when he raised his voice, had pressed closer to him,
and glanced at the artistically wrought Nuremberg
clocks on the writing table, two of which struck the
hour at the same time. Then he himself seized
the little bell, rang it, and permitted the valet
Adrian to brush his hair and make the necessary changes
in his dress.

Then he invited his sister to accompany him to the
table.

Walking without a shoe was difficult, and, when he
saw the Queen look down sorrowfully at the cloths
which swathed the foot, he said while toiling on:

“Imagine that we have been hunting and the boot
remained stuck in the mud. I am sure of indulgence
from you. As to the others, even with only one
shoe I am still the Emperor.”

He opened the door as he spoke, and, while the valet
held the hound back, the Emperor, with chivalrous
courtesy, insisted that his sister should precede
him, though she resisted until Baron Malfalconnet,
with a low bow to the royal dame, said:

“The meal is served, your Majesty, and if you
lead the way you will protect our Emperor and sovereign
lord from the unworthy suspicion of wishing to be
first at the trencher.”

He motioned toward the threshold as he uttered the
words, but Charles, who often had a ready answer for
the baron’s jests, followed his sister in silence
with a clouded brow.

Leaning on her arm and the crutch which Quijada had
mutely presented to him, Charles cautiously descended
the stairs. He had indignantly rejected the leech’s
proposal to use a litter in the house also, if the
gout tortured him.

CHAPTER XI.

Majesty, whose nature demands that people should look
up to it, shuns the downward glance of compassion.
Yet during this walk the Emperor Charles, even at
the risk of presenting a pitiable spectacle, would
gladly have availed himself of the litter.

He, who had cherished the proud feeling of uniting
in himself, his own imperial power, the temporal and
ecclesiastical sovereignty over all Christendom, would
now willingly have changed places with the bronzed,
sinewy halberdiers who were presenting arms to him
along the sides of the staircase. Yet he waved
back Luis Quijada with an angry glance and the sharp
query, “Who summoned you?” when, in an
attitude of humble entreaty, he ventured to offer
him the support of his strong arm. Still, pain.
compelled him to pause at every third step, and ever
and anon to lean upon the strong hip of his royal
sister.

Queen Mary gladly rendered him the service, and, as
she gazed into his face, wan with anxiety and suffering,
and thought of the beautiful surprise which she had
in store, she waved back, unnoticed by her royal brother,
the pages and courtiers who were following close behind.
Then looking up at him, she murmured:

“How you must suffer, Carlos! But happiness
will surely follow the martyrdom. Only a few
steps, a few minutes more, and you will again look
life in the face with joyous courage. You will
not believe it? Yet it is true. I would
even be inclined to wager my own salvation upon it.”

Page 64

The Emperor shook his head dejectedly, and answered
bitterly:

“Such things should not be trifled with; besides,
you would lose your wager. Joyous courage, Querida,
was buried long ago, and too many cares insure its
having no resurrection. The good gifts which Heaven
formerly permitted me to enjoy have lost their zest;
instead of bread, it now gives me stones. The
best enjoyment it still grants me—­I am honest
and not ungrateful in saying so—­is a well-prepared
meal. Laugh, if you choose! If moralists
and philosophers heard me, they would frown. But
the consumption of good things affords them pleasure
too. It’s a pity that satiety so speedily
ends it.”

While speaking, he again descended a few steps, but
the Queen, supporting him with the utmost solicitude,
answered cheerily:

“The baser senses, with taste at their head,
and the higher ones of sight and hearing, I know,
are all placed by your Majesty in the same regiment,
with equal rank; your obedient servant, on the contrary,
bestows the commissions of officers only on the higher
ones. That seems to me the correct way, and I
don’t relinquish the hope of winning for it the
approval of the greatest general and most tasteful
connoisseur of life.”

“If the new cook keeps his promise, certainly
not,” replied Charles, entering into his sister’s
tone. “De Rye asserts that he is peerless.
We shall see. As to the senses, they all have
an equal share in enabling us to receive our impressions
and form an opinion from them. Why should the
tongue and the palate—­But stay! Who
the devil can philosophize with such twinges in the
foot?”

“Besides, that can be done much better,”
replied the Queen, patting the sufferer’s arm
affectionately, “while the five unequal brothers
are performing the duties of their offices. The
saints be praised! Here we are at the bottom.
No, Carlos, no! Not through the chapel! The
stone flags there are so hard and cold.”

As she spoke she guided him around it into the dining-room,
where a large table stood ready for the monarch’s
personal suite and a smaller one for his sister and
himself.

The tortured sovereign, still under the influence
of the suffering which he had endured, crossed himself
and sat down. Quijada and young Count Tassis,
the Emperor’s favourite page, placed the gouty
foot in the most comfortable position, and Count Buren,
the chamberlain, presented the menu. Charles
instantly scanned the list of dishes, and his face
clouded still more as he missed the highly seasoned
game pasty which the culinary artist had proposed
and he had approved. Queen Mary had ordered that
it should be omitted, because Dr. Mathys had pronounced
it poison for the gouty patient, and she confessed
the offence.

Page 65

This was done with the frank affection with which
she treated her brother, but Charles, after the first
few words, interrupted her, harshly forbidding any
interference, even hers, in matters which concerned
himself alone, and in the same breath commanded Count
Buren to see that the dish should still be made.
Then, as if to show his sister how little he cared
for her opposition, he seized the crystal jug with
his own hand, without waiting for the cup-bearer behind
him, filled the goblet with fiery Xeres wine, and
hurriedly drained it, though the leech had forbidden
him, while suffering from the gout, to do more than
moisten his lips with the heating liquor.

The eyes of the royal huntress, though she was by
no means unduly soft-hearted, grew dim with tears.
This was her brother’s gratitude for the faithful
care which she bestowed upon him! Who could tell
whether her surprise, instead of pleasing him, might
not rouse his anger? He was still frowning as
though the greatest injury had been inflicted upon
him, and his sister’s tearful eyes led him to
exclaim wrathfully, as if he wished to palliate his
unchivalrous indignation to a lady:

“I am deprived of one pleasure after another,
and the little enjoyment remaining is lessened wherever
it can be. Who has heavier loads of anxiety to
endure?—­yet you spoil my recreation during
the brief hours when I succeed in casting off the
burden.”

Here he paused and obstinately grasped the golden
handle of the pitcher again. The Queen remained
silent. Contradiction would have made the obdurate
sovereign empty another goblet also. Even a look
of entreaty would have been out of place on this occasion.
So she fixed her eyes mutely and sadly upon her silver
plate; but even her silence irritated the Emperor,
and he was about to give fresh expression to his ill-humour,
when the doors of the chapel opposite to him opened,
and the surprise began.

The signal for the commencement of the singing had
been the delivery of the first dish from the steward
to one of the great nobles, who presented it to their
Majesties.

The Queen’s face brightened, and tears of heartfelt
joy, instead of grief and disappointment, now moistened
her eyes, for if ever a surprise had accomplished
the purpose desired it was this one.

Charles was gazing, as if the gates of Paradise had
opened before him, toward the chapel doors, whence
Maestro Gombert’s Benedictio Mensae, a melody
entirely new to him, was pouring like a holy benediction,
devout yet cheering, sometimes solemn, anon full of
joy.

The lines of anxiety vanished from his brow as if
at the spell of a magician. The dull eyes gained
a brilliant, reverent light, the bent figure straightened
itself. He seemed to his sister ten years younger.
She saw in his every feature how deeply the music had
affected him.

She knew her imperial brother. Had not his heart
and soul been fully absorbed by the flood of pure
and noble tones which so unexpectedly streamed toward
him, his eyes would have been at least briefly attracted
by the dish which Count Krockow more than once presented,
for it contained an oyster ragout which a mounted
messenger had brought that noon from the Baltic Sea
to the city on the Danube.

Page 66

Yet many long minutes elapsed ere he noticed the dish,
though it was one of his favourite viands. Barbara’s
song stirred the imperial lover of music at the nocturnal
banquet just as it had thrilled the great musicians
a few hours before. He thought that he had never
heard anything more exquisite, and when the Benedictio
Mensa: died away he clasped his sister’s
hand, raised it two or three times to his lips, and
thanked her with such affectionate warmth that she
blessed the accomplishment of her happy idea, and
willingly forgot the unpleasant moments she had just
undergone.

Now, as if completely transformed, he wished to be
told who had had the lucky thought of summoning his
orchestra and her boy choir, and how the plan had
been executed; and when he had heard the story, he
fervently praised the delicacy of feeling and true
sportsmanlike energy of her strong and loving woman’s
heart.

The court orchestra gave its best work, and so did
the new head cook. The pheasant stuffed with
snails and the truffle sauce with it seemed delicious
to the sovereign, who called the dish a triumph of
the culinary art of the Netherlands. The burden
of anxieties and the pangs inflicted by the gout seemed
to be forgotten, and when the orchestra ceased he
asked to hear the boy choir again.

This time it gave the most beautiful portion of Joscluin
de Pres’s hymn to the Virgin, “Ecce tu
pulchra es”; and when Barbara’s “Quia
amore langueo” reached his ear and heart with
its love-yearning melody, he nodded to his sister
with wondering delight, and then listened, as if rapt
from the world, until the last notes of the motet died
away.

Where had Appenzelder discovered the marvellous boy
who sang this “Quia amore langueo”?
He sent Don Luis Quijada to assure the leader and the
young singer of his warmest approbation, and then permitted
the Queen also to seek the choir and its leader to
ask whom the latter had succeeded in obtaining in
the place of the lad from Cologne, whom he had often
heard sing the “tu pulchra es,” but with
incomparably less depth of feeling.

When she returned she informed the Emperor of the
misfortune which had befallen the two boys, and how
successful Appenzelder had been in the choice of a
substitute. Yet she still concealed the fact that
a girl was now the leader of his choir, for, kindly
as her brother nodded to her when she took her place
at the table again, no one could tell how he would
regard this anomaly.

Besides, the next day would be the 1st of May, the
anniversary of the death of his wife Isabella, who
had passed away from earth seven years before, and
the more she herself had been surprised by the rare
and singular beauty of the fair-haired songstress,
the less could she venture on that day or the morrow
to blend with the memories of the departed Queen the
image of another woman who possessed such unusual charms.
The Emperor had already asked her a few questions
about the young singers, and learned that the bell-like
weaker voice, which harmonized so exquisitely with
that of the invalid Johannes’s substitute, belonged
to the little Maltese lad Hannibal, whose darling
wish, through Wolf’s intercession, had been
fulfilled. His inquiries, however, were interrupted
by a fresh performance of the boy choir.

Page 67

This again extorted enthusiastic applause from the
sovereign, and when, while he was still shouting “Brava!”
the highly seasoned game pasty which meanwhile, despite
the regent’s former prohibition, had been prepared,
and now, beautifully browned, rose from a garland of
the most tempting accessories, was offered, he waved
it away. As he did so his eyes sought his sister’s,
and his expressive features told her that he was imposing
this sacrifice upon himself for her sake.

It was long since he had bestowed a fairer gift.
True, in this mood, it seemed impossible for him to
refrain from the wine. It enlivened him and doubled
the unexpected pleasure. Unfortunately, he was
to atone only too speedily for this offence against
medical advice, for his heated blood increased the
twinges of the gout to such a degree that he was compelled
to relinquish his desire to listen to the exquisite
singing longer.

Groaning, he suffered himself—­this time
in a litter—­to be carried back to his chamber,
where, in spite of the pangs that tortured him, he
asked for the letter in which Granvelle informed his
royal master every evening what he thought of the
political affairs to be settled the next day.
Master Adrian, the valet, had just brought it, but
this time Charles glanced over the important expressions
of opinion given by the young minister swiftly and
without deeper examination. The saying that the
Emperor could not dispense with him, but he might do
without the Emperor, had originally applied to his
father, whose position he filled to the monarch’s
satisfaction in every respect.

The confessor had reminded the sovereign of the anniversary
which had already dawned, and which he was accustomed
to celebrate in his own way.

Very early in the morning, after a few hours spent
in suffering, he heard mass, and then remained for
hours in the sable-draped room where he communed with
himself alone.

The regent knew that on this memorable day he would
not be seen even by her. The success of the surprise
afforded a guarantee that music would supply her place
to him on the morrow also, and ere she left him she
requested a short leave of absence to enjoy the hunting
for which she longed, and permission to take his major-domo
Quijada with her.

An almost unintelligible murmur from the sufferer
told her that he had granted the petition. It
was done reluctantly, but the Queen departed at dawn
with Don Luis and a small train of attendants, while
the Emperor retired into the black-draped chamber.

The gout would really have prohibited him from kneeling
before the altar, whence the agonized face of the
crucified Redeemer, carved in ivory by a great Florentine
master, gazed at him, but he took this torture upon
himself.

Even in the period of health and happiness when, at
the age of twenty-three, besides the great boon of
health, besides fame, power, and woman’s love,
he had enjoyed in rich abundance all the gifts which
Heaven bestows on mortals, his devout nature had led
him to retreat into a gloomy, solitary apartment.

Page 68

The feeling that constantly drew him thither again
was akin to the dread which the ancients had of the
envy of the gods, and, moreover, the admonition of
his pious teacher who afterward became Pope Adrian,
that the less man spares himself the more confidently
he can rely upon the forbearance of God.

And, in truth, this mighty sovereign, racked by almost
unendurable pain, dealt cruelly enough with himself
when he compelled his aching knee to bend until consciousness
threatened to fail under the excess of agony.

Nowhere did he find more complete calmness than here,
in no spot could he pray more fervently, and the boon
which he most ardently besought from Heaven was that
it would spare him the fate of his insane mother, hold
aloof the fiend which in many a gloomy hour he saw
stretching a hand toward him.

Here, too, he sought to penetrate the nature of death.
In this room, clothed with the sable hue of mourning,
he felt that alreadv, while on earth, he had fallen
into its all-levelling power. Here his mind, like
that of a dying man’s, grasped for brief intervals
what life had offered and what awaited him beyond
the confines of this short earthly existence, in eternity.

While thus occupied, the sovereign, accustomed to
speculation, encountered many a dangerous doubt, but
he only needed to gaze at the crucified Saviour to
find the way again to the promises of his Church.

The last years had deprived him of so large a portion
of the most valuable possessions and the best ornaments
of his life, and inflicted, both in wardly and outwardly,
such keen suffering, that it was easy for him to perceive
what a gain death would bring.

What it could take from him was easily lost; the relief
it promised to afford no power, science, or art here
on earth could procure for him—­release
from cruel suffering and oppressive cares.

While he was learning the German language the name
“Friend Hein,” which he heard applied
to death, perplexed him; now he thought that he understood
it, for the man with the scythe wore to him also the
face of a friend, who when the time had come would
not keep him waiting long. As he thought of his
wife, of whose death this day was the anniversary,
he felt inclined to envy her. What he had lost
by her decease seemed very little to others who were
aware of the long periods of time during which, separated
from each other, they had gone their own ways; but
he knew that it was more than they supposed, for with
Isabella he had lost the certainty that the sincere,
nay, perhaps affectionate interest of a being united
to him by the sacrament of marriage accompanied his
every step.

His pleasure in life had withered with the growth
of the harsh conviction that he was no longer loved
by any one for his own sake.

In this chamber, draped with sable hangings, his own
heart seemed dead, like dry wood from which only a
miracle could lure green leafage again. With
the only real pity which was at his command, compassion
on himself, he rose from the kneeling posture which
had become unbearable.

Page 69

With difficulty he sank into the arm-chair which stood
ready for him, and, panting for breath, asked himself
whether every joy had indeed vanished. No!

Music still stirred his benumbed heart to swifter
throbbing. He thought of the pleasure which the
previous evening had afforded, and suddenly it seemed
as if he again heard the “Quia amore langueo”—­“Because
I long for love”—­that had touched
his soul the day before.

Yes, he, too, still longed for love, for a different,
a warmer feeling than the lukewarm blood of his royal
mother had bestowed upon her children, or the devotion
of the sister to whom the chase was dearer than aught
else, certainly than his society.

But such thoughts did not befit this room, which was
consecrated to serious reflections. The anniversary
summoned him to far different feelings. Yet,
powerfully as he resisted them, his awakened senses
continued to demand their rights, and, while he closed
his eyes and pressed his brow against the base of
the altar covered with black cloth, changeful images
of happier days rose before him. He, too, had
rejoiced in a vigorous, strong, and pliant body.
In the jousts he had been sure of victory over even
dreaded opponents; as a bull-fighter he had excelled
the matador; as a skilful participant in riding at
the ring, as well as a tireless hunter, he had scarcely
found his equal. In the prime of his youth the
hearts of many fair women had throbbed warmly for him,
but he had been fastidious. Yet where he had
aimed at victory, he had rarely failed.

The sensuous, fair-haired Duchess of Aerschot, the
dark-eyed Cornelia Annoni of Milan, the devout Dolores
Gonzaga, with her large, calm, enthusiastic eyes,
and again and again, crowding all the others into the
background, the timid Johanna van der Gheynst, who
under her delicate frame concealed a volcano of ardent
passion. She had given him a daughter whose head
was now adorned by a crown. In spite of the brief
duration of their love bond, she had been clearer
to him than all the rest—­clearer even than
the woman to whom the sacrament of marriage afterward
united him. And she of whom seven years ago death
had bereft him?

At this question a bitter smile hovered around his
full lips. How much better love than hers he
had known! And how easy Isabella had rendered
it not to weary of her, for during his long journeys
and frequent dangerous campaigns, instead of accompanying
him, she had led in some carefully guarded castle
a life that suited her quiet tastes.

A sorrowful smile curled his lips as he recalled the
agreement which they had made just before a separation.
At that time both were young, yet how willingly she
had accepted his proposal that, when age approached,
they should separate forever, that she in one cloister
and he in another might prepare for the end of life!

What reply would a woman with true love in her heart
have made to such a demand?

Page 70

No, no, Isabella had felt as little genuine love for
him as he for her! Her death had been a sorrow
to him, but he had shed no tears over it.

He could not weep. He no longer knew whether
he was able to do so when a child. Since his
beard had grown, at any rate, his eyes had remained
dry. The words of the Roman satirist, that tears
were the best portion of all human life, returned
to his memory. Would he himself ever experience
the relief which they were said to afford the human
heart?

But who among the living would he have deemed worthy
of them? When his insane mother died, he could
not help considering the poor Queen fortunate because
Heaven had at last released her from such a condition.
Of the children whom his wife Isabella and Johanna
van der Gheynst had given him, he did not even think.
An icy atmosphere emanated from his son Philip which
froze every warm feeling that encountered it.
He remembered his daughter with pleasure, but how
rarely he was permitted to enjoy her society!
Besides, he had done enough for his posterity, more
than enough. To increase the grandeur of his
family and render it the most powerful reigning house
in the world, he had become prematurely old; had undertaken
superhuman tasks of toil and care; even now he would
permit himself no repose. The consciousness of
having fulfilled his duty to his family and the Church
might have comforted him in this hour, but the plus
ultra—­more, farther—­which had
so often led him into the conflict for the dream of
a world sovereignty, the grandeur of his own race,
and against the foes of his holy faith, now met the
barrier of a more powerful fate. Instead of advancing,
he had seemed, since the defeat at Algiers, to go
backward.

Besides, how often the leech threatened him with a
speedy death if he indulged himself at table with
the viands which suited his taste! Yet the other
things that remained for him to enjoy scarcely seemed
worth mentioning. To restore unity to the Church,
to make the crowns which he wore the hereditary possessions
of his house, were two aims worthy of the hardest
struggles, but, unless he deceived himself, he could
not hope to attain them. Thus life, until its
end—­perhaps wholly unexpectedly—­arrived
within a brief season, offered him nothing save suffering
and sacrifice, disappointment, toil, and anxieties.

With little cheer or elevation of soul, he looked
up and rang the bell. Two chamberlains and Master
Adrian appeared, and while Baron Malfalconnet, who
did not venture to jest in this spot, offered him his
arm and the valet the crutch, his confessor, Pedro
de Soto, also entered the black-draped room.

A single glance showed him that this time the quiet
sojourn in the gloomy apartment, instead of exerting
an elevating and brightening influence, had had a
depressing and saddening effect upon the already clouded
spirit of his imperial penitent. In spite of
the most zealous effort, he had not succeeded in finding
his way into the soul-life of this sovereign, equally
great in intellect and energy, but neither frank nor
truthful, yet, on the other hand, his penetration
often succeeded in fathoming the causes of the Emperor’s
moods.

Page 71

With the quiet firmness which harmonized so perfectly
with a personal appearance that inspired confidence,
the priest now frankly but respectfully expressed
what he thought he had observed.

True, he attributed the Emperor’s deep despondency
to totally different causes, but he openly deplored
the sorrowful agitation which the memories of the
beloved dead had awakened in his Majesty.

In natural, simple words, the learned man, skilled
in the art of language, represented to the imperial
widower how little reason he had to mourn his devout
wife. He was rather justified in regarding her
death hour as the first of a happy birthday.
For the sleeper whose dream here on earth he, Charles,
had beautified in so many ways, a happy waking had
long since followed in the land for which she had never
ceased to yearn. For him, the Emperor, Heaven
still had great tasks in this world, and many a victory
awaited him. If his prayer was heard, and his
Majesty should decide to battle for the holiest cause,
sorrowful anxieties would vanish from his pathway
as the mists of dawn scatter before the rising sun.
He well knew the gravity of the demands which every
day imposed upon his Majesty, but he could give him
the assurance that nothing could be more pleasing
to Heaven than that he, who was chosen as its champion,
should, by mastering them, enjoy the gifts with which
Eternal Love set its board as abundantly for the poorest
carter as for the mightiest ruler.

Then he spoke of the surprise of the night before,
and how gratefully he had heard that music had once
more exerted its former magic power. Its effect
would be permanent, even though physical suffering
and sorrowful memories might interrupt it for a few
brief hours.

“That,” he concluded, “Nature herself
just at this season teaches us to hope. This
day of fasting and sadness will be followed by a series
of the brightest weeks—­the time of leafage,
blossom, and bird songs, which is so dear to the merciful
mother of God. May the month of May, called by
the Germans the joy month, and which dawns to-day with
bright sunshine and a clear, blue sky, be indeed a
season of joy to your Majesty!”

“God grant it!” replied the Emperor dully,
and then, with a shrug of the shoulders, added:
“Besides, I can not imagine whence such joy should
come to me. A boy’s bell-like voice sang
to me yesterday, ’Quia amore langueo.’
This heart, too, longs for love, but it will never
find it on earth.”

“Why not, if your Majesty sends forth to seek
it?” replied the confessor eagerly. “The
Gospel itself gives a guarantee of success. ’Seek,
and ye shall find,’ it promises. To the
heart which longs for love the all-bountiful Father
sends that for which it longs to meet it halfway.”

“When it is young,” added the Emperor,
shrugging his shoulders impatiently. “But
when the soul’s power of flight has failed, who
will bestow the ability to traverse the half of the
way allotted to it?”

Page 72

“The omnipotence which works greater miracles,”
replied the priest in a tone of the most ardent conviction,
pointing upward.

Charles nodded a mournful assent, and, after a sign
which indicated to the confessor that he desired the
interview to end, he continued his painful walk.

He had waved aside the litter which the lord chamberlain,
Count Heinrich of Nassau, had placed ready for him,
and limped, amid severe suffering, to his room.

There the Bishop of Arras awaited him with arduous
work, and the Emperor did not allow himself a moment’s
rest while his sister was using the beautiful first
of May to ride and hunt. Charles missed her, and
still more the faithful man who had served him as
a page, and whom he had been accustomed since to have
in close attendance upon him.

To gratify his sister’s passion for the chase
he had given Quijada leave of absence, and now he
regretted it. True, he told no one that he missed
Don Luis, but those who surrounded him were made to
feel his ill-humour plainly enough. Only he admitted
to the Bishop of Arras that the radiant light which
was shining into his window was disagreeable.
It made too strong a contrast to his gloomy soul,
and it even seemed as though the course of the sun,
in its beaming, unattainably lofty path, mocked the
hapless, painful obstruction to his own motion.

At noon he enjoyed very little of the meal, prepared
for a fast day, which the new cook had made tempting
enough.

In reply to the Count of Nassau’s inquiry whether
he wished to hear any music, he had answered rudely
that the musicians and the boy choir could play and
sing in the chapel for aught he cared. Whether
he would listen to the performance was doubtful.

Single tones had reached his ears, but he did not
feel in the mood to descend the stairs.

He went to rest earlier than usual. The next
morning, after mass, he himself asked for Josquin’s
“Ecce tu pulchra es.” It was to be
sung during the noonday meal. But when, instead
of the Queen and Quijada, a little note came from
his sister, requesting, in a jesting tone, an extension
of the leave of absence because she trusted to the
healing power of the sun and the medicine “music”
upon her distinguished brother, and the chase bound
her by a really magic spell to the green May woods,
he flung the sheet indignantly away, and, just before
the beginning of the meal, ordered the singing to
be omitted.

Either in consequence of the fasting or the warm sunshine,
the pangs of the gout began to lessen; but, nevertheless,
his mood grew still more melancholy, for he had believed
in the sincere affection of two human beings, and
Queen Mary left him alone in his misery, while his
faithful Luis, to please the female Nimrod, did the
same.

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Page 73

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 3.

CHAPTER XII.

During the singing in the chapel on the fast day Barbara
had waited vainly for a word of appreciation from
the Emperor. The Queen of Hungary had gone to
the chase, and the monarch had remained in his apartments,
while she had done her best below. A few lords
and ladies of the court, several priests, knights,
and pages had been the only listeners.

This had sorely irritated her easily wounded sensitiveness,
but she had appeared at the rehearsal in the New Scales
on the following morning. Again she reaped lavish
praise, but several times she met Appenzelder’s
well-founded criticisms with opposition.

The radiant cheerfulness which, the day before yesterday,
had invested her nature with an irresistible charm
had vanished.

When the tablatures were at last laid aside, and the
invitation to sing in the Golden Cross did not yet
arrive, her features and her whole manner became so
sullen that even some of the choir boys noticed it.

Since the day before a profound anxiety had filled
her whole soul, and she herself wondered that it had
been possible for her to conquer it just now during
the singing.

How totally different an effect she had expected her
voice—­which even the greatest connoisseurs
deemed worthy of admiration—­to produce upon
the music-loving Emperor!

What did she care if the evening of the day before
yesterday the Queen of Hungary had paid her fine compliments
and assured her of the high approval of her imperial
brother, since Appenzelder had informed her yesterday
that it was necessary to conceal from his Majesty the
fact that a woman was occupying the place of the lad
from Cologne, Johannes. The awkward giant had
been unfriendly to women ever since, many years before,
his young wife had abandoned him for a Neapolitan officer,
and his bad opinion of the fairer sex had been by
no means lessened when Barbara, at this communication,
showed with pitiless frankness the anger and mortification
which it aroused in her mind. A foul fiend, he
assured Gombert, was hidden in that golden-haired
delight of the eyes with the siren voice; but the
leader of the orchestra had interceded for her, and
thought that her complaint was just. So great
an artist was too good to fill the place of substitute
for a sick boy who sang for low wages. She had
obliged him merely to win the applause of the Emperor
and his illustrious sister, and to have the regent
turn her back upon Ratisbon just at this time, and
without having informed his Majesty whose voice had
with reason aroused his delight, would be felt even
by a gentler woman as an injury.

Appenzelder could not help admitting this, and then
dejectedly promised Barbara to make amends as soon
as possible for the wrong which the regent, much against
his will, had committed.

Page 74

He was compelled to use all the power of persuasion
at his command to keep her in the boy choir, at least
until the poisoned members could be employed again,
for she threatened seriously to withdraw her aid in
future.

Wolf, too, had a difficult position with the girl
whom his persuasion had induced to enter the choir.
What Appenzelder ascribed to the devil himself, he
attributed merely to the fervour of her fiery artist
temperament. Yet her vehement outburst of wrath
had startled him also, and a doubt arose in his mind
as to what matrimonial life might be with a companion
who, in spite of her youth, ventured to oppose elderly,
dignified men so irritably and sharply. But at
the very next song which had greeted him from her
rosy lips this scruple was forgotten. With sparkling
eyes he assented to Gombert’s protestation that,
in her wrath, she had resembled the goddess Nemesis,
and looked more beautiful than ever.

In spite of his gray hair, she seemed to have bewitched
the great musician, like so many other men, and this
only enhanced her value in Wolf’s sight.

Urgently, nay, almost humbly, he at last entreated
her to have patience, for, if not at noon, his Majesty
would surely desire to hear the boy choir in the evening.
Besides, he added, she must consider it a great compliment
that his Majesty had summoned the singers to the Glen
Cross the evening before at all, for on such days
of fasting and commemoration the Emperor was in the
habit of devoting himself to silent reflection, and
shunned every amusement.

But honest Appenzelder, who frankly contradicted everything
opposed to the truth, would not let this statement
pass. Nay, he interrupted Wolf with the assurance
that, on the contrary, the Emperor on such days frequently
relied upon solemn hymns to transport him into a fitting
mood. Besides, the anniversary was past, and
if his Majesty did not desire to hear them to-day,
business, or the gout, or indigestion, or a thousand
other reasons might be the cause. They must simply
submit to the pleasure of royalty. They was entirely
in accordance with custom that his Majesty did not
leave his apartments the day before. He never
did so on such anniversaries unless he or Gombert
had something unusual to offer.

Barbara bit her lips, and, while the May sun shone
brilliantly into the hall, exclaimed:

“So, since this time you could offer him nothing
‘unusual,’ Master, I will beg you to grant
me leave of absence.” Then turning swiftly
upon her heel and calling to Wolf, by way of explanation,
“The Schlumpergers and others are going to Prufening
to-day, and they invited me to the May excursion too.
It will be delightful, and I shall be glad if you’ll
come with us.”

The leader of the choir saw his error, and with earnest
warmth entreated her not to make his foolish old head
suffer for it. “If, after all, his Majesty
should desire to hear the choir that noon, it would
only be because——­”

Page 75

Here he hesitated, and then reluctantly made the admission—­“Because
you yourself, you fair one, who turns everybody’s
bead, are the ‘unusual’ something which
our sovereign lord would fain hear once more, if the
gout does not——­”

Then Barbara laughed gaily in her clear, bell like
tones, seized the clumsy Goliath’s long, pointed
beard, and played all sorts of pranks upon him with
such joyous mirth that, when she at last released him,
he ran after her like a young lover to catch her;
but she had nimbler feet, and he was far enough behind
when she called from the threshold:

She laughingly kissed her hand to him from the doorway
as she spoke, and it seemed as though her yielding
was to be instantly rewarded, for before she left
the house Chamberlain de Praet appeared to summon the
choir to the Golden Cross at one o’clock.

Barbara’s head was proudly erect as she crossed
the square. Wolf followed her, and, on reaching
home, found her engaged in a little dispute with her
father.

The latter had been much disgusted with himself for
his complaisance the day before. Although Wolf
had come to escort Barbara to the Emperor’s
lodgings, he had accompanied his child to the Golden
Cross, where she was received by Maestro Appenzelder.
Then, since he could only have heard the singing under
conditions which seemed unendurable to his pride, he
sullenly retired to drink his beer in the tap-room
of the New Scales.

As, on account of the late hour, he found no other
guest, he did not remain there long, but returned
to the Haidplatz to go home with Barbara.

This he considered his paternal duty, for already
he saw in imagination the counts and knights who,
after the Emperor and the Queen had loaded her with
praise and honour, would wish to escort her home.
Dainty pages certainly would not be deprived of the
favour of carrying her train and lighting her way
with torches. But he knew courtiers and these
saucy scions of the noblest houses, and hoped that
her father’s presence would hold their insolence
in check. Therefore he had endeavoured to give
to his outer man an appearance which would command
respect, for he wore his helmet, his coat of mail,
and over it the red scarf which his dead wife had
embroidered with gold flowers and mountains-his coat-of-arms.

In spite of the indispensable cane in his right hand,
he wore his long battle sword, but he would have been
wiser to leave it at home.

While pacing up and down before the Golden Cross in
the silent night to wait for his daughter, the halberdiers
at the entrance noticed him.

What was the big man doing here at this late hour?
How dared he venture to wear a sword in the precincts
of the Emperor’s residence, contrary to the
law, and, moreover, a weapon of such unusual length
and width, which had not been carried for a long while?

Page 76

After the guards were relieved they had suddenly surrounded
him, and, in spite of his vigorous resistance, would
have taken him prisoner. But fortunately the
musicians, among them Barbara and Wolf, had just come
out into the street, and the latter had told the sergeant
of the guards, whom he knew, how mistaken he had been
concerning the suspicions pedestrian, and obtained
his release. Thus the careful father’s hopes
had been frustrated. But when he learned that
his daughter had not seen the Emperor at all, and
had neither been seen nor spoken to by him, he gave—­notwithstanding
his reverence for the sacred person of his mighty
commander—­full expression to his indignation.

Fool that he had been to permit Barbara to present
herself at court with a troop of ordinary singing
boys! Even on the following day he persisted
in the declaration that it was his duty, as a father
and a nobleman, to protect his daughter from further
humiliations of this sort.

Yet when, on the day of fasting, the invitation to
sing came, he permitted Barbara to accept it, because
it was the Emperor who summoned her. He had called
for her again, and on the way home learned that neither
his Majesty nor the regent had been among the listeners,
and he had gone to rest like a knight who has been
hurled upon the sand.

The next morning, after mass, Barbara went to the
rehearsal, and returned in a very joyous mood with
the tidings that the Emperor wished to hear her about
noon. But this time her father wanted to forbid
her taking part in the performance, and Wolf had not
found it easy to make him understand that this would
insult and offend his Majesty.

The dispute was by no means ended when the little
Maltese summoned her to the New Scales. Wolf
accompanied her only to the Haidplatz, for he had
been called to the Town Hall on business connected
with his inheritance; but Barbara learned in the room
assigned to the musicians that the noon performance
had just been countermanded, and no special reason
had been given for the change.

The leader of the orchestra had been accustomed to
submit to the sovereign’s arrangements as unresistingly
as to the will of higher powers, and Barbara also
restrained herself.

True, wrath boiled and seethed in her breast, but
before retiring she only said briefly, with a seriousness
which revealed the contempt concealed beneath:

“You were quite right, Maestro Appenzelder.
The Emperor considered my voice nothing unusual, and
nothing else is fit for the august ears of his Majesty.
Now I will go to the green woods.”

The leader of the boy choir again did his best to
detain her, for what the noon denied the evening would
bring, and Gombert aided him with courteous flatteries;
but Barbara listened only a short time, then, interrupting
both with the exclamation, “I force myself upon
no one, not even the highest!” she left the
room, holding her head haughtily erect.

Page 77

Appenzelder fixed his eyes helplessly upon the ground.

“I’d rather put a hoarse sailor or a croaking
owl into my choir henceforward than such a trilling
fair one, who has more whims in her head than hairs
on it.”

Then he went out to look for Wolf, for he, as well
as Gombert, had noticed that he possessed a certain
degree of influence over Barbara. What should
he say to their Majesties if they ordered the choir
for the late meal and missed the voice about which
the Queen had said so many complimentary things in
the Emperor’s name?

Wolf had told him that he was summoned to the Town
Hall. The maestro followed him, and when he learned
there that he had gone to the syndic, Dr. Hiltner,
he inquired the way to this gentleman’s house.

But the knight was no longer to be found there.
For the third time the busy magistrate was not at
home, but he had been informed that the syndic expected
him that afternoon, as he wished to discuss a matter
of importance. Dr. Hiltner’s wife knew
what it was, but silence had been enjoined upon her,
and she was a woman who knew how to refrain from speech.

She and her daughter Martina—­who during
Wolf’s absence had grown to maidenhood—­were
sincerely glad to see him; he had been the favourite
schoolmate of her adopted son, Erasmus Eckhart, and
a frequent guest in her household. Yet she only
confirmed to the modest young man, who shrank from
asking her more minute questions, that the matter concerned
an offer whose acceptance promised to make him a prosperous
man. She was expecting her Erasmus home from
Wittenberg that evening or early the next morning,
and to find Wolf here again would be a welcome boon
to him.

What had the syndic in view? Evidently something
good. Old Ursel should help counsel him.
The doctor liked her, and, in spite of the severe
illness, she had kept her clever brain.

He would take Barbara into his confidence, too, for
what concerned him concerned her also.

But when he turned from the Haidplatz into Red Cock
Street he saw three fine horses in front of the cantor
house. A groom held their bridles. The large
chestnut belonged to the servant. The other two-a
big-boned bay and an unusually wellformed Andalusian
gray, with a small head and long sweeping tail—­had
ladies’ saddles.

The sister of rich old Peter Schlumperger, who was
paying court to Barbara, had dismounted from the former.
She wanted to persuade the young girl, in her brother’s
name, to join the party to the wood adjoining Prfifening
Abbey.

At first she had opposed the marriage between the
man of fifty and Barbara; but when she saw that her
brother’s affection had lasted two years, nay,
had increased more and more, and afforded new joy to
the childless widower, she had made herself his ally.

She, too, was widowed and had a large fortune of her
own. Her husband, a member of the Kastenmayr
family, had made her his heiress. Blithe young
Barbara, whose voice and beauty she knew how to value,
could bring new life and brightness into the great,
far too silent house. The girl’s poverty
was no disadvantage; she and her brother had long found
it difficult to know what to do with the vast wealth
which, even in these hard times, was constantly increasing,
and the Blomberg family was as aristocratic as their
own.

Page 78

The widow’s effort to persuade the girl to ride
had not been in vain, for Wolf met Frau Kastenmayr
on the stairs, and Barbara followed in a plain dark
riding habit, which had been her mother’s.

So, in spite of Maestro Appenzelder, Miss Self-Will
had really determined to leave the city.

Her hasty information that the Emperor did not wish
to hear the choir at noon somewhat relieved his mind;
but when, in answer to his no less hasty question
about the singing at the late meal, the answer came,
“What is that to me?” he perceived that
the sensitiveness which yesterday had almost led her
to a similar step had now urged her to an act that
might cause Appenzelder great embarrassment, and rob
her forever of the honour of singing before their
Majesties.

While the very portly Frau Kastenmayr went panting
down the narrow stairs, Wolf again stopped Barbara
with the question why she so carelessly trifled with
what might be the best piece of good fortune in her
life, and shook his head doubtfully as, tossing hers
higher, with self-important pride she answered low
enough not to be heard by the widow, “Because
a ride through the green woods in the month of May
is pleasanter than to sing into vacancy at midnight
unheeded.”

Here the high, somewhat shrill voice of Frau Kastenmayr,
who felt jealous in her brother’s behalf at
hearing Barbara whispering with the young knight,
interrupted them.

Her warning, “Where are you, my darling?”
made the girl, with the skirt of her riding habit
thrown over her arm, follow her swiftly.

Wolf, offended and anxious, would have liked to make
her feel his displeasure, but could not bring himself
to let her go unattended, and, with some difficulty,
first helped Frau Kastenmayr upon her strong steed,
then, with very mingled feelings, aided Barbara to
mount the noble Andalusian. While she placed
her little foot in his hand to spring thence with
graceful agility into the saddle, the widow, with forced
courtesy, invited the young gentleman to accompany
her and her brother to Prufening. There would
be a merry meal, which she herself had provided, in
the farmhouse on the abbey lands.

Without giving a positive answer, Wolf bowed, and
his heart quivered as Barbara, from her beautiful
gray horse, waved her riding whip to him as a queen
might salute a vassal.

How erect she sat in her saddle! how slender and yet
how well rounded her figure was! What rapture
it would be to possess her charms!

That she would accept the elderly Schlumperger for
the sake of his money was surely impossible.
And yet! How could she, with laughing lips, cast
to the wind the rare favour of fortune which permitted
her to display her art to the Emperor, and so carelessly
leave him, Wolf, who had built the bridge to their
Majesties, in the lurch, unless she had some special
purpose in view; and what could that be except the
resolution to become the mistress of one of the richest
houses in Ratisbon? The words “My darling,”
which Frau Kastenmayr had called to Barbara, again
rang in his ears, and when the two ladies and the
groom had vanished, he returned in a very thoughtful
mood to the faithful old maid-servant.

Page 79

Every one else who was in the street or at the window
looked after Barbara, and pointed out to others the
beautiful Jungfrau Blomberg and the proud security
with which she governed the spirited gray. She
had become a good rider, first upon her father’s
horses, and then at the Wollers in the country, and
took risks which many a bold young noble would not
have imitated.

Her aged suitor’s gray Andalusian was dearer
than the man himself, whom she regarded merely as
a sheet-anchor which could be used if everything else
failed.

The thought of what might happen when, after these
days of working for her bread ended, still more terrible
ones followed, had troubled her again and again the
day before. Now she no longer recollected these
miserable things. What a proud feeling it was
to ride on horseback through the sweet May air, in
the green woods, as her own mistress, and bid defiance
to the ungrateful sovereign in the Golden Cross!

The frustration of the hope that her singing would
make the Emperor desire to hear her again and again
had wounded her to the depths of her soul and spoiled
her night’s rest. The annoyance of having
vainly put forth her best efforts to please him had
become unendurable after the fresh refusal which,
as it were, set the seal upon her fears, and in the
defiant flight to the forest she seemed to have found
the right antidote. As she approached the monarch’s
residence, she felt glad and proud that he, who could
force half the world to obey him, could not rule her.

To attract his notice by another performance would
have been the most natural course, but Barbara had
placed herself in a singular relation toward the Emperor
Charles. To her he was the man, not the Emperor,
and that he did not express a desire to hear her again
seemed like an insult which the man offered to the
woman, the artist, who was ready to obey his sign.

Her perverse spirit had rebelled against such lack
of appreciation of her most precious gifts, and filled
her with rankling hatred against the first person
who had closed his heart to the victorious magic of
her voice.

When she refused Appenzelder her aid in case the Emperor
Charles desired to hear the choir that evening, and
promised Frau Kastenmayr to accompany her to Prufening,
she had been like a rebellious child filled with the
desire to show the man who cared nothing for her that,
against her will, he could not hear even a single
note from her lips.

They were to meet the other members of the party at
St. Oswald’s Church on the Danube, so they were
obliged to pass the Golden Cross.

This suited Barbara and, with triumphant selfconfidence,
in which mingled a slight shade of defiance, she looked
up to the Emperor’s windows. She did not
see him, it is true, but she made him a mute speech
which ran: “When, foolish sovereign, who
did not even think it worth while to grant me a single
look, you hear the singing again to-night, and miss
the voice which, I know full well, penetrated your
heart, you will learn its value, and long for it as
ardently as I desired your summons.”

Page 80

Here her cheeks glowed so hotly that Frau Kastenmayr
noticed it, and with maternal solicitude asked, from
her heavy, steady bay horse:

“Is the gray too gay for you, my darling?”

CHAPTER XIII.

Shortly after sunset Appenzelder received the order
to have the boy choir sing before the Emperor.

During the noon hour, which the monarch had spent
alone, thoughts so sad, bordering upon melancholy,
had visited him, although for several hours he had
been free from pain, that he relinquished his resentful
intention of showing his undutiful sister how little
he cared for her surprise and how slight was his desire
to enjoy music.

In fact, he, too, regarded it as medicine, and hoped
especially for a favourable effect from the exquisite
soprano voice in the motet “Tu pulchra es.”

He still had some things to look over with Granvelle,
but the orchestra and the boy choir must be ready
by ten o’clock.

Would it not have been foolish to bear this intolerable,
alarming mood until the midnight meal? It must
be dispelled, for he himself perceived how groundless
it was. The pain had passed away, the despatches
contained no bad news, and Dr. Mathys had permitted
him to go out the next day. When Adrian already
had his hand on the door knob, he called after him,
“And Appenzelder must see that the exquisite
new voice—­he knows—­is heard.”

Soon after, when Granvelle had just left him, the
steward, Malfalconnet, entered, and, in spite of the
late hour—­the Nuremberg clock on the writing
table had struck nine some time before—­asked
an audience for Sir Wolf Hartschwert, one of her Highness
the regent’s household, to whom she committed
the most noiseless and the most noisy affairs, namely,
the secret correspondence and the music.

“The German?” asked Charles, and as the
baron, with a low bow, assented, the Emperor continued:
“Then it is scarcely an intrigue, at any rate
a successful one, unless he is unlike the usual stamp.
But no! I noticed the man. There is something
visionary about him, like most of the Germans.
But I have never seen him intoxicated.”

“Although he is of knightly lineage, and, as
I heard, at home in the neighbourhood of the Main,
where good wine matures,” remarked Malfalconnet,
with another bow. “At this moment he looks
more than sober, rather as though some great fright
had roused him from a carouse. Poor knight!”

“Ay, poor knight!” the Emperor assented
emphatically. “To serve my sister of Hungary
in one position may be difficult for a man who is no
sportsman, and now in two! God’s death!
These torments on earth will shorten his stay in purgatory.”

The Emperor Charles had spoken of his sister in a
very different tone the day before, but now she remained
away from him and kept with her a friend whom he greatly
needed, so he repaid her for it.

Therefore, with a shrug of the shoulders expressive
of regret, he added, “However badly off we may
be ourselves, there is always some one with whom we
would not change places.”

Page 81

“Were I, the humblest of the humble, lucky enough
to be in your Majesty’s skin,” cried the
baron gaily, “I wouldn’t either. But
since I am only poor Malfalconnet, I know of nobody—­and
I’m well acquainted with Sir Wolf—­who
seems to me more enviable than your Majesty.”

“Jest, or earnest?” asked the Emperor.

“Earnest, deep, well-founded earnest,”
replied the other with an upward glance whose solemn
devotion showed the sovereign that mischief was concealed
behind it. “Let your Majesty judge for yourself.
He is a knight of good family, and looks like a plain
burgher. His name is Wolf Hartschwert, and he
is as gentle as a lamb and as pliant as a young willow.
He appears like the meek, whom our Lord calls blessed,
and yet he is one of the wisest of the wise, and,
moreover, a master in his art. Wherever he shows
himself, delusion follows delusion, and every one
redounds to his advantage, for whoever took him for
an insignificant man must doff his hat when he utters
his name. If a shrewd fellow supposed that this
sheep would not know A from B, he’ll soon give
him nuts to crack which are far too hard for many
a learned master of arts. Nobody expects chivalric
virtues and the accompanying expenditure from this
simple fellow; yet he practises them, and, when he
once opens his hand, people stare at him as they do
at flying fish and the hen that lays a golden egg.
Appreciative surprise gazes at him, beseeching forgiveness,
wherever he is known, as surely as happy faces welcome
your Majesty’s entry into any Netherland city.
Fortune, lavish when she once departs from her wonted
niggardliness, guards this her favourite child from
disappointment and misconstruction.”

“The blessing of those who are more than they
seem,” replied the Emperor.

“That is his also,” sighed Malfalconnet.
“That man, your Majesty, and I the poorest of
the poor! I was born a baron, and, as the greatest
piece of good fortune, obtained the favour of my illustrious
master. Now everybody expects from me magnificence
worthy of my ancient name, and a style of living in
keeping with the much-envied grace that renders me
happy. But if your Majesty’s divine goodness
did not sometimes pay my debts, which are now a part
of me as the tail belongs to the comet—­”

“Oho!” cried the Emperor here. “If
that is what is coming—­”

“Do I look so stupid,” interrupted the
baron humbly, “as to repeat to-day things which
yesterday did not wholly fail to make an impression
upon your Majesty?”

“They would find deaf cars,” Charles replied.
“You are certainly less destitute of brains
than of money, because you lack system. One proceeds
in a contrary direction from the other. Besides,
your ancient name, though worthy of all honour, does
not inspire the most favourable impression. Malfalconnet!
Mal is evil, and falconnet—­or is it falconnelle?—­is
a cruel, greedy bird of prey. So whoever encounters
no evil from you, whoever escapes you unplucked, also
enjoys a pleasant surprise. As for not being
plucked, I, at least, unfortunately have not experienced
this. But we will not cloud by too long waiting
the good fortune of the gentleman outside who was
born under such lucky stars. What brings the
Wolf in sheep’s clothing to us?”

Page 82

“One would almost suppose,” replied the
baron with a crafty smile, “that he was coming
to-day on a useless errand, and meant to apply to your
Majesty for the payment of his debts.”

Here the Emperor interrupted him with an angry gesture;
but Malfalconnet went on soothingly: “However,
there is nothing to be feared from lambs in sheep’s
clothing. Just think, your Majesty, how warm they
must be in their double dress! No; he comes from
the musicians, and apparently brings an important
message.”

“Admit him, then,” the Emperor commanded.
A few minutes later Wolf stood before the sovereign,
and, in Appenzelder’s name, informed him in a
tone of sincere regret, yet with a certain degree
of reserve, that the performance of the choir boys
that day would leave much to be desired, for two of
the best singers had not yet recovered.

“That is just what troubles us,” Wolf
replied uneasily. “The magnificent new
voice wishes to desert the maestro to-night.”

“Desert?” cried the Emperor angrily.
“A choir boy in the service of her Majesty the
Queen of Hungary! So there is still something
new under the sun.”

“Certainly,” replied Wolf with a low bow,
still striving, in obedience to the regent’s
strict command, not to reveal the sex of the new member
of the choir. “And this case is especially
unusual. This voice is not in her Majesty’s
service. It belongs to a volunteer, as it were,
a native of this city, whose wonderful instrument
and rare ability we discovered. But, begging
your Majesty’s pardon, the soul of such an artist
is a strange thing, inflammable and enthusiastic,
but just as easily wounded and disheartened.”

“The soul of a boy!” cried Charles contemptuously.
“Appenzelder does not look like a man who would
permit such whims.”

“Not in his choir, certainly,” said the
young nobleman. “But this voice—­allow
me to repeat it—­is not at his disposal.
It was no easy matter to obtain it at all, and, keenly
as the maestro disapproves of the caprices of this
beautiful power, he can not force it—­the
power, I mean—­to the obedience which his
boys——­”

Here the Emperor laughed shrilly. “The
power, the voice! The songstress, you should
say. This whimsical volunteer with the voice of
an angel, who is so tenderly treated by rough Appenzelder,
is a woman, not a refractory choir boy. How you
are blushing! You have proved a very inapt pupil
in the art of dissimulation and disguise in my royal
sister’s service. Really and truly, I am
right!”

Here another bow from Wolf confirmed the Emperor’s
conjecture; but the latter, highly pleased with his
own penetration, laughed softly, exclaiming to the
baron: “Where were our ears? This masquerade
is surely the work of the Queen, who so dearly loves
the chase. And she forbade you too, Malfalconnet,
to give me your confidence?” Again a silent bow
assented.

Page 83

The Emperor bent his eyes on the ground a short time,
and then said, half in soliloquy: “It was
not possible otherwise. Whence could a boy learn
the ardent, yearning longing of which that ‘Quia
amore langueo’ was so full? And the second,
less powerful voice, which accompanied her, was that
a girl’s too? No? Yet that also, I
remember, had a suggestion of feminine tenderness.
But only the marvellously beautiful melody of one
haunted me. I can hear it still. The irresistible
magic of this ’Amore langueo’ mingled
even in my conversation with Granvelle.”

Then he passed his hand across his lofty brow, and
in a different tone asked Wolf, “So it is a
girl, and a native of this city?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” was the reply.

“And, in spite of the praise of the gracious
mother of God, a Protestant, like the other fools
in this country?”

“She belongs, through both parents, to a family
of knightly lineage, entitled to bear a coat-of-arms
and appear in the lists at tournaments. Her father
has drawn his sword more than once in battle against
the infidels—­at the capture of Tunis, under
your own eyes, your Majesty, and in doing so he unfortunately
ruined the prosperity of his good, ancient house.”

“What is his name?”

“Wolfgang Blomberg.”

“A big, broad-shouldered German fighter, with
a huge mustache and pointed beard. Shot in the
leg and wounded in the shoulder. Pious, reckless,
with the courage of a lion. Afterward honoured
with the title of captain.”

Full of honest amazement at such strength of memory,
Wolf endeavoured to express his admiration; but the
imperial general interrupted him with another question,
“And the daughter? Does her appearance harmonize
with her voice?”

“I think so,” replied Wolf in an embarrassed
tone.

“Wonderfully beautiful and very aristocratic,”
said the baron, completing the sentence, and raising
the tips of his slender fingers to his lips.

But this gesture seemed to displease his master, for
he turned from him, and, looking the young Ratisbon
knight keenly in the face, asked suspiciously, “She
is full of caprices—­I am probably right
there also—­and consequently refuses to
sing?”

“Pardon me, your Majesty,” replied Wolf
eagerly. “If I understand her feelings,
she had hoped to earn your Majesty’s approval,
and when she received no other summons, nay, when
your Majesty for the second time countermanded your
wish to hear the boy choir, she feared that her art
had found no favour in your Majesty’s trained
ears, and, wounded and disheartened—­”

“Nonsense!” the Emperor broke in wrathfully.
“The contrary is true. The Queen of Hungary
was commissioned to assure the supposed boy of my
approval. Tell her this, Sir Wolf Hartschwert,
and do so at once. Tell her—­”

Page 84

“She rode to the forest with some friends,”
Wolf timidly ventured to interpose to save himself
other orders impossible to execute. “If
she has not returned home, it might be difficult—­”

“Whether difficult or easy, you will find her,”
Charles interrupted. “Then, with a greeting
from her warmest admirer, Charles, the music lover,
announce that he does not command, but entreats her
to let him hear again this evening the voice whose
melody so powerfully moved his heart.—­You,
Baron, will accompany the gentleman, and not return
without the young lady!—­What is her name?”

“Barbara Blomberg.”

“Barbara,” repeated the sovereign, as
if the name evoked an old memory; and, as though he
saw before him the form of the woman he was describing,
he added in a low tone: “She is blue-eyed,
fairskinned and rosy, slender yet well-rounded.
A haughty, almost repellent bearing. Thick, waving
locks of golden hair.”

“That is witchcraft!” the baron exclaimed.
“Your Majesty is painting her portrait in words
exactly, feature by feature. Her hair is like
that of Titian’s daughter.”

“Apparently you have not failed to scrutinize
her closely,” remarked the Emperor sharply.
“Has she already associated with the gentlemen
of the court?”

Both promptly answered in the negative, but the Emperor
continued impatiently: “Then hasten!
As soon as she is here, inform me.—­The meal,
Malfalconnet, must be short-four courses, or five at
the utmost, and no dessert. The boy choir is
not to be stationed in the chapel, but in the dining
hall, opposite to me.—­We leave the arrangement
to you, Sir Wolf. Of course, a chair must be
placed for the lady.—­Have the larger table
set in another room, baron, and, for ought I care,
serve with all twenty courses and a dessert.
Old Marquise de Leria will remain here. She will
occupy Queen Mary’s seat at my side. On
account of the singer, I mean. Besides, it will
please the marquise’s vanity.”

His eyes sparkled with youthful fire as he gave these
orders. When the ambassadors were already on
the threshold, he called after them:

“Wherever she may be, however late it may become,
you will bring her. And,” he added eagerly,
as the others with reverential bows were retiring,
“and don’t forget, I do not command—­I
entreat her.”

When he was alone, Charles drew a long breath, and,
resting his head on his hand, his thoughts returned
to the past. Half-vanished pictures unconsciously
blended with the present, which had so unexpectedly
assumed a bright colouring.

“Barbara,” he murmured, almost inaudibly.
Then he continued in soliloquy: “The beautiful
Jungfrau Groen in Brussels was also called Barbara,
and she was the first. Another of this name,
and perhaps the last. How can this ardent yearning
take root in my seared soul and grow so vigorously?”

Meanwhile he fancied that the “Quia amore langueo”
again greeted him yearningly in the sweet melody of
her voice.

Page 85

“How powerfully the ear affects the heart!”
he continued, pursuing the same train of thought.
“Slender, well-rounded, golden-haired. If
she should really resemble the Brussels Barbara!
Malfalconnet is a connoisseur. Perhaps, after
these gloomy days and years, a semblance of sunlight
may return. It is long enough since politics and
war have granted me even the slightest refreshment
of the heart. And yet, methinks Heaven might
feel under obligation to do something for the man who
has made it his life-task to hold its enemies in check.”

He rose quickly as he spoke, and, while moving forward
to ring the little bell whose peal summoned the valet,
not the slightest trace of the gouty pain in his foot
was perceptible.

Adrian saw with joyful surprise that his master approached
without a crutch the door through which he had come,
and the faithful servant expressed his astonishment
in terms as eager as his position permitted.

On reaching his sleeping-room, the Emperor interrupted
him. He wished to be dressed for dinner.

Master Adrian would not believe his own ears.
He was to bring one of the new reception robes, and
yet to-day not even the Queen of Hungary was to share
his Majesty’s repast. One of the costliest
new costumes! What had come over his lord, who
for months, when no distinguished guests were present,
had worn only the most comfortable and often very shabby
clothes at table, saving the better new garments like
an economical housekeeper?

But Charles was not satisfied even with these, for,
when Adrian hung over the back of a chair a handsome
black court dress, slashed with satin, his master
signed to him to take it away, and asked for one of
the newest works of art of his Brussels tailor, a
violet velvet garment, with slashes of golden yellow
sill: on the breast, in the puffed sleeves and
short plush breeches. With this were silk stockings
tightly incasing the feet and limbs, as well as a
ruff and cuffs of Mechlin lace.

Shaking his head, the valet took these articles of
dress from the chest; but before he put them on his
master, the latter sat down to have his hair and beard
carefully arranged.

For weeks he had performed this slight task himself,
though with very ill success, for his hair and beard
had seemed to his visitors rough and unkempt.
This time, on the contrary, mirror in hand, he directed
the work of the skilful servant with many an objection,
showing as much vanity as in his youth.

After Adrian had put on the new costume, the Emperor
shook off the large, warm boot, and held out his gouty
foot to the valet.

The faithful fellow gazed beseechingly into his master’s
face, and modestly entreated him to remember the pain
from which he had scarcely recovered; but the Emperor
imperiously commanded, “The shoes!” and
the servant brought them and cautiously, with grave
anxiety, fitted the low-cut violet satin shoes on
his feet.

Page 86

Lastly, the sovereign ordered the Golden Fleece, which
he usually wore on a hook below his neck, to be put
on the gold chain which, as the head of the order,
he had a right to wear with it, and took from the jewel
case several especially handsome rings and a very
costly star of diamonds and rubies, which he had fastened
in the knot of the bow of his ruff. The state
sword and sheath, which Adrian handed to him unasked,
were rejected.

He needed no steel weapons to-day; the victory he
sought must be won by his person.

When the servant held the Venetian mirror before him,
he was satisfied. The elderly, half-broken-down
man of the day before had become a tall, stately noble
in the prime of life; nay, in spite of his forty-six
years, his eyes sparkled far more brightly and proudly
than many a young knight’s in his train.

His features, even now, did not show beautiful symmetry,
but they bore the stamp of a strong, energetic mind.
The majestic dignity which he knew how to bestow upon
it, made his figure, though it did not exceed middle
height, appear taller; and the self-confident smile
which rested on his full lips, as he was sure of a
speedy triumph, well beseemed a general whose sword
and brain had gained the most brilliant victories.

Adrian had seen him thus more than once after battles
had been won or when he had unhorsed some strong antagonist
in the tournament, but it was many a long year ago.
He felt as though a miracle was wrought before his
eyes, and, deeply loved, kissed his master’s
sleeve.

Charles noticed it, and, as if in token of gratitude,
patted him lightly on the shoulder. This was
not much, but it made the faithful fellow happy.
How long it was since the last time his imperial aster
had gladdened him by so friendly a sign of satisfaction!

Were the days to return when, in the Netherlands,
Charles had condescended to treat even humble folk
with blunt familiarity?

Adrian did not doubt that he should learn speedily
enough what had caused this unexpected change; but
the discovery of the real reason was now far from
his alert mind, because he was still confident that
the Emperor’s heart had for years been closed
against the charms of woman. Nevertheless, the
experienced man told himself that some woman must be
connected with this amazing rejuvenation. Otherwise
it would surely have been one of the wonders which
he knew only from legends.

And lo! Chamberlain de Praet was already announcing
a lady—­the Marquise de Leria.

If Master Adrian had ever permitted himself to laugh
in his master’s presence, it would certainly
have happened this time, for the curtseying old woman
in velvet, silk, and plumes, whose visit his Majesty
did not refuse, was probably the last person for whose
sake Charles endured the satin shoe on his sensitive
foot.

How oddly her round, catlike head, with its prominent
cheek bones, and the white wig combed high on the
top, contrasted with the rouged, sunken cheeks and
eyebrows dyed coal black!

Page 87

Adrian hastily calculated that she was not far from
seventy. But how tightly she laced, how erect
was her bearing, how sweet the smile on her sunken
mouth! And how did her aged limbs, which must
have lost their flexibility long ago, accomplish with
such faultless grace the low curtseys, in which she
almost touched the floor?

But the valet, who had grown gray in Charles’s
service, had witnessed still more surprising things,
and beheld the presence of royalty bestow strength
for performances which even now seemed incomprehensible.
The lame had leaped before his eyes, and feeble invalids
had stood erect long hours when the duties of the
court, etiquette, the command of royalty, compelled
them to do so.

What a mistress in ruling herself the marquise had
become during her long service at the French and Netherland
courts! for not a feature betrayed her surprise at
the Emperor’s altered appearance while she was
thanking him fervently for the favour of being permitted
to share the meal with the august sovereign, which
had bestowed so much happiness upon her.

Charles cut this speech short, and curtly requested
her to take under her charge, in his royal sister’s
place, a young lady of a noble family.

The marquise cast a swift glance of understanding
at the Emperor, and then, walking backward with a
series of low bows, obeyed the sovereign’s signal
to leave him.

Without any attempt to conceal from the valet the
strong excitement that mastered him, Charles at last
impatiently approached the window and looked down
into the Haidplatz.

When his master had turned his back upon him, Adrian
allowed himself to smile contentedly. Now he
knew all, and therefore thought, for the first time,
that a genuine miracle had been wrought in the monarch.
Yet it gave him pleasure; surely it was a piece of
good fortune that this withering trunk was again putting
forth such fresh buds.

CHAPTER XIV.

Wolf Hartschwert had asked the guards who were stationed
at the end of Red Cock Street whether any riders had
passed them.

Several horses always stood saddled for the service
of the court. Malfalconnet mounted his noble
stallion, and Count Lanoi, the equerry, gave his companion
a good horse and furnished two mounted torch-bearers.

But the Emperor’s envoys had not far to ride;
halfway between the abbey of Prufening and Ratisbon,
just outside the village of Dcchbetten, they met the
returning excursionists.

Barbara’s voice reached Wolf from a considerable
distance.

He knew the playmate of his childhood; her words never
sounded so loud and sharp unless she was excited.

She had said little on the way out, and Herr Peter
Schlumperger asked what had vexed her. Then she
roused herself, and, to conquer the great anxiety
which again and again took possession of her, she drank
Herr Peter’s sweet Malmsey wine more recklessly
than usual.

Page 88

At last, more intoxicated by her own vivacity than
by the juice of the grape, she talked so loudly and
freely with the other ladies and gentlemen that it
became too much even for Frau Kastenmayr, who had
glanced several times with sincere anxiety from her
golden-haired favourite to her brother, and then back
to Barbara.

Such reckless forwardness ill beseemed a chaste Ratisbon
maiden and the future wife of a Peter Schlumperger,
and she would gladly have urged departure. But
some of the city pipers had been sent to the forest,
and when they began to play, and Herr Peter himself
invited the young people to dance, her good humour
wholly disappeared; for Barbara, whom the young gentlemen
eagerly sought, had devoted herself to dancing with
such passionate zest that at last her luxuriant hair
became completely loosened, and for several measures
fluttered wildly around her. True, she had instantly
hastened deeper into the woods with Nandl Woller, her
cousin, to fasten it again, but the incident had most
unpleasantly wounded Frau Kastenmayr’s strict
sense of propriety.

Nothing unusual ought to happen to a girl of Barbara’s
age, and the careless manner in which she treated
what had befallen her before the eyes of so many men
angered the austere widow so deeply that she withdrew
a large share of her favour. This was the result
of the continual singing.

Any other girl would fasten her hair firmly and resist
flying in the dance from one man’s arm to another’s,
especially in the presence of a suitor who was in
earnest, and who held aloof from these amusements of
youth.

Doubtless it was her duty to keep her brother from
marriage with a girl who, so long as her feet were
moving in time to the violins and clarionets, did
not even bestow a single side glance upon her estimable
lover.

So her displeasure had caused the early departure.

Torch-bearers rode at the head of the tolerably long
train of the residents of Ratisbon, and some of the
guests carried cressets. So there was no lack
of light, and as the lantern in her neighbour’s
hand permitted the baron to recognise Barbara, Malfalconnet,
according to the agreement, rode up to the singer,
while Wolf accosted Herr Peter Schlumperger, and informed
him of the invitation which the steward, in the Emperor’s
name, was bringing his fair guest.

The Ratisbon councillor allowed him to finish his
explanation, and then with quiet dignity remarked
that his Majesty’s summons did not concern him.
It rested entirely with jungfrau Blomberg to decide
whether she would accept it at so late an hour.

But Barbara had already determined.

The assent was swift and positive, but neither the
light of the more distant torches nor of the lantern
close at hand was brilliant enough to show the baron
how the girl’s face blanched at the message that
the Emperor Charles did not command, but only humbly
entreated her to do him a favour that evening.

Page 89

She had with difficulty uttered a few words of thanks;
but when the adroit baron, with flattering urgency,
besought her to crown her kindness and remember the
saying that whoever gives quickly gives doubly, she
pressed her right hand on her throbbing heart, and
rode to Frau Kastenmayr’s side to explain briefly
what compelled her to leave them, and say to her and
her brother a few words of farewell and gratitude.

Herr Peter replied with sincere kindness; his sister
with equally well-meant chilling displeasure.
Then Barbara rode on with the two envoys, in advance
of the procession, at the swiftest trot. Her tongue,
just now so voluble, seemed paralyzed. The violent
throbbing of her heart fairly stopped her breath.
A throng of contradictory thoughts and feelings filled
her soul and mind. She was conscious of one thing
only. A great, decisive event was imminent, and
the most ardent wish her heart had ever cherished
was approaching its fulfilment.

It is difficult to talk while riding rapidly; but
Malfalconnet was master of the power of speech under
any circumstances, and the courtier, with ready presence
of mind, meant to avail himself of the opportunity
to win the favour of the woman whose good will might
become a precious possession.

But he was not to accomplish this, for, when he addressed
the first question to Barbara, she curtly replied
that she did not like to talk while her horse was
trotting.

Wolf thought of the loud voice which had reached him
a short time before from the midst of the Ratisbon
party, but he said nothing, and the baron henceforward
contented himself with occasionally uttering a few
words.

The whole ride probably occupied only a quarter of
an hour, but what a flood of thoughts and feelings
swept in this short time through Barbara’s soul!

She had just been enraged with herself for her defiance
and the reckless haste which perhaps had forever deprived
her of the opportunity to show the Emperor Charles
her skill as a singer. The cruel anxiety which
tortured her on this account had urged her at Prufening
to the loud forwardness which hitherto she had always
shunned. She had undoubtedly noticed how deeply
this had lowered her in Frau Kastenmayr’s esteem,
and the discovery had been painful and wounded her
vanity; but what did she care now for her, for her
brother, for all Ratisbon? She was riding toward
the great man who longed to see her, and to whom—­she
herself scarcely knew whence she gained the courage—­she
felt that she belonged.

She had looked up to him as to a mountain peak whose
jagged summit touched the sky when her father and
others had related his knightly deeds, his victories
over the most powerful foes, and his peerless statesmanship.
Only the day before yesterday she had listened to Wolf
with silent amazement when he told her of the countries
and nations over which this mightiest of monarchs
reigned, and described the magnificence of his palaces
in the Netherlands, in Spain, and in Italy. Of
the extent of his wealth, and the silver fleets which
constantly brought to him from the New World treasures
of the noble metal of unprecedented value, Barbara
had already heard many incredible things.

Page 90

Yet, during this ride through the silent night, she
did not even bestow the lightest thought upon the
riches of the man who was summoning her to his side.
The gold, the purple, the ermine, the gems, and all
the other splendours which she had seen, as if in
a dream, hovering before her at the first tidings
that she was invited to sing before the Emperor Charles,
had vanished from her imagination.

She only longed to display her art before the greatest
of men, whose “entreaty” had intoxicated
her with very different power from the Malmsey at
Herr Peter’s table, and show herself worthy of
his approval. That the mightiest of the mighty
could not escape pain seemed to her like a mockery
and a spiteful cruelty of Fate, and at the early mass
that day she had prayed fervently that Heaven might
grant him recovery.

Now she believed that it was in her own hands to bring
it to him.

How often had she been told that her singing possessed
the power to cheer saddened souls! Surely the
magic of her art must exert a totally different influence
upon the man to whom her whole being attracted her
than upon the worthy folk here, for whom she cared
nothing. She, ay, she, was to free his troubled
spirit from every care, and if she succeeded, and
he confessed to her that he, too, found in her something
unusual, something great in its way, then the earnest
diligence which Master Feys had often praised in her
would be richly rewarded; then she would be justified
in the pride which, notwithstanding her poverty, was
a part of her, like her eyes and her lips, and for
which she had so often been blamed.

She had always rejected coldly and unfeelingly the
young men who sought her favour, but with what passionate
yearning her heart throbbed for the first person whom
she deemed worthy of it, yet from whom she expected
nothing save warm sympathy for the musical talents
which she held in readiness for him, earnest appreciation
which raised her courage, and also, perhaps, the blissful
gift of admiration!

Never had she rejoiced so gleefully, so proudly, and
so hopefully in the magic of her voice, and she also
felt it as a piece of good fortune that she was beautiful
and pure as the art with which she expected to elevate
and cheer his soul.

Transported out of herself, she did not heed the starry
heavens above her head, at which she usually gazed
with so much pleasure—­Wolf had taught her
to recognise the most beautiful planets and fixed stars—­nor
at the night birds which, attracted by the torches
of the horsemen riding in advance, often darted close
by her, nor the flattering words to which she was
wont to listen willingly, and which few understood
how to choose better than the well-trained breaker
of hearts at her side.

The envoys had taken care that the city gate should
be kept open for them. Not until the hoofs of
her gray horse rang upon the pavement did Barbara
awake from the dream of longing which had held her
captive. She started in alarm, raised her little
plumed cap, and drew a long breath. The ancient,
well-known houses along the sides of the streets brought
her back to reality and its demands.

Page 91

She could not appear before the Emperor just as she
was, in her riding habit, with disordered hair.
Besides, her head was burning after the dancing and
the wine which she had drunk. She must calm herself
ere entering the presence of the royal connoisseur
whose approval could render her so happy, whose dissatisfaction
or indifference would make her wretched.

Quickly forming her resolution, she turned to Malfalconnet
and explained that she could not appear before his
Majesty until after she had allowed herself a short
period of rest; but the baron, who probably feared
that some feminine caprice would spoil, even at the
twelfth hour, the successful issue of his mission,
thought that he must deny this wish, though in the
most courteous manner and with the assurance that he
would procure her an opportunity to collect her thoughts
quietly in the Golden Cross.

Barbara unexpectedly wheeled her horse, struck him
a blow with the whip, and called to the astonished
gentlemen, “In front of the Golden Cross in
a quarter of an hour. You, Wolf, can wait for
me at the Grieb.”

The last words were already dying away as she clashed
swiftly up the street and across the Haidplatz.
Bright sparks flashed from the paving stones struck
by her horse’s hoofs.

“Confounded witch!” cried Malfalconnet.
“And how the unruly girl wheels her horse and
sits erect in her wild career over the flagstones!
If the gray falls, it will do her no harm. Such
rising stars may drop from the skies, but they will
leap up again like the cats which I threw from the
roof when a boy. His Majesty will get something
to trouble him if he continues his admiration.
Sacre Dieu! What a temperament!—­and
a German!”

Hitherto both had ridden on at a walk, gazing after
Barbara, although she had already vanished in the
darkness, which was illumined only by the stars in
the cloudless sky. Now the clock struck half-past
ten, and Malfalconnet exclaimed, half to the young
knight, half to himself, “If only the wild bird
does not yet escape our snare!”

“Have no fear,” replied Wolf. “She
will keep her promise, for she is truthfulness itself.
But you would oblige me, Herr Baron, if in future
you use a tone less light in speaking of this young
lady, who is worthy of every honour. Her reputation
is as faultless as the purity of her voice, and, obstinate
as she may be——­”

“So this masterpiece of the Creator finds much
favour in your eyes and your keen ears, Sir Knight,”
Malfalconnet gaily interrupted. “From any
one else, my young friend, I should not suffer such
a warning to pass; but we are now riding in the Emperor’s
precincts, so it would cause me sore embarrassment
if my steel pierced you, for my neck, which is very
precious to me, would then probably fall under the
rude axe of the executioner. Besides, I wish
you well, as you know, and I understand you German
pedants. Henceforward—­I swear it by
all the saints!—­I will utter no disrespectful
word of your lovely countrywoman until you yourself
release my tongue.”

Page 92

“That will never be done!” Wolf eagerly
protested, “and the mere supposition would force
me to bare my sword, if it were not you——­”

“If it were not sheer madness for your thumb-long
parade dagger to cross blades with my good sword,”
laughed Malfalconnet. “Ere you drew your
rapier, I think your lust for murder would have fled.
So let us leave our blades in their sheaths and permit
my curiosity, to ask just one more question:
What consideration induces you, Sir Knight, to constrain
yourself to discreet peaceableness toward me, who,
Heaven knows, excited your ire with no evil intent?”

“The same which restrains you from the duel
with me,” replied Wolf quietly; and then, in
a warmer tone, continued: “You are dear
to me because you have shown me kindness ever since
I came to the court. But you are the last person
who would admit that gratitude should fetter the hand
which desires to defend itself. In comparison
with you, Baron, I am but an insignificant man, but
noble blood flows in my veins as well as in yours,
and I, too, am no coward. Perhaps you suspect
it because I have accepted many things from you which
I would overlook from no one else. But I know
that, however your jesting tongue sins against me,
it has nothing to do with your disposition, whose
kindness has ever been proved when the occasion offered.
But you are now denying respect to a lady—­”

“From that, too, my heart is as far removed
as the starry sky above our heads from the wretched
pavement of this square,” Malfalconnet interrupted.

“Yes, Sir Knight, you judged me aright, and
God save me from thinking or speaking evil of a lady
who is so dear to the heart of a friend!”

As he spoke he held out his right hand to his companion
with gay yet stately cordiality.

Wolf eagerly clasped it, and directly after both swung
themselves from their horses in the courtyard of the
Golden Cross, Malfalconnet to inform the Emperor of
the successful result of his ride, the Ratisbon knight
to arrange for the proper stationing of the boy choir,
and then, obedient to Barbara’s injunction,
to go to the Grieb.

He knew the baron, and was aware that any one whom
this chivalrous gentleman assured of his friendship
might rely upon it, but that he did not spare even
the most sacred things if he might hope thereby to
win the approval and arouse the mirth of his imperial
master.

In the glad conviction that he had done his best for
the woman he loved, and yet had not forfeited the
favour of the influential man to whom he owed a debt
of gratitude, whose active mind he admired, and who
had, moreover, won his affection, he went to the neighbouring
Grieb.

Page 93

The favour which the Emperor showed Barbara seemed
to him not only a piece of great good fortune for
her, but also for himself. He knew Charles’s
delicate appreciation of music, and could confidently
anticipate that her voice would satisfy him and win
his interest. But if this occurred, and the sovereign
learned that Wolf wished to marry the singer to whom
their Majesties owed such great pleasure, it would
be an easy matter for the Emperor to place him in
a position which could not fail to content the just
desire of the girl whom he loved for an existence
free from want. The interview with the monarch,
to which he was to lead Barbara at once, therefore
seemed to him like a bridge to her consent, and when
he met at the Ark the court musician, Massi, followed
by a servant carrying his violin case, he called to
him: “Just look at the shining stars up
above us, Massi! They are friendly to me, and,
if they keep their promise, the journey here will
be blessed.”

“Amen!” replied the other as he pressed
his hand cordially and asked for further particulars;
but Wolf put him off until the next day, exclaim ing:
“Jungfrau Blomberg, whose voice and execution
bewitched you also, is now to sing before his Majesty.
Wish her the best luck, for on her success depend
many things for her, and perhaps for your friend also.
Once more, uphold us!”

He turned toward the Grieb as he spoke, and the longing
for Barbara quickened his pace.

The fear that the gouty monarch could cherish any
other wishes concerning the young girl than to enjoy
her singing was farthest from his thoughts.

Who would ever have seen an aspirant for woman’s
favour in the suffering Emperor, bowed during the
last few years by the heaviest political cares, and
whose comparative youthfulness was easily overlooked?

At the main entrance of the Grieb Wolf was accosted
by the master of the house.

The wife of this obedient husband, Frau Lerch, known
throughout all Ratisbon as “Lerch, the mantuamaker,”
had told him to keep watch, and impressed it upon
him to let no one, no matter who it might be, enter
her rooms on the ground floor except the cantor knight,
as she called Wolf.

Barbara had had little time for reflection as she
fled from the Emperor’s envoys, but a clever
woman’s brain thinks quickly when an important
decision is to be made, and while turning the gray
she had decided that it would be better for her purpose,
and the haste connected with it, to go to Frau Lerch
than to her own home.

In the Grieb she was sure of finding admittance at
once if she knocked at Frau Lerch’s window,
while the cantor house was closed early, and a long
time might pass before the door opened to her.
Besides, she did not know how her father, who could
never be depended upon in such matters, would regard
the honour that awaited her; thirdly—­and
this alone was decisive—­the white dress,
which she meant to wear instead of the riding habit,
was at Frau Lerch’s, and what good service the
skilful, nimble fingers of her mother’s ex-maid
could render in this hurried change of garb.

Page 94

Besides, it had also darted into her mind that the
baron might accompany her to her shabby abode, and
that would have seemed like a humiliation. Why
should the court know what indigent circumstances had
been the portion of the artist to whom the Emperor,
through no less a personage than Baron Malfalconnet,
sent an “entreaty” for her appearance?

All this had been clear to her in the course of a
few seconds, and her choice had proved fortunate,
for the gate of the Grieb was still unlocked, and
the old hostler Kunz, who had been in the service of
the Gravenreuths, the former owners of the Grieb,
and had known “Wawerl” from childhood,
was just coming out of the tavern, and willingly agreed
to take the gray back to Peter Schlumperger’s
stable.

When Barbara entered the huge building a ray of light
shone from the private chapel at the left, dedicated
to Saint Dorothea.

This seemed to her like a sign from heaven, and, before
knocking at Frau Lerch’s door, she glided into
the sanctuary, threw herself upon her knees before
the image of the saint, and besought her to bestow
the most melting sweetness and the deepest influence
upon her voice while singing before his Majesty.

Then it seemed as though the face of the kindly saint
smiled assent, and in hurried words Barbara added
that the great monarch was also the most thorough
connoisseur, and the altar here should lack neither
candles nor flowers if she would bestow upon her the
power to win his approval. While speaking, she
raised her clasped hands toward the Virgin’s
image, and concluded her fervent prayer with the passionate
exclamation: “Oh, hear me, hear me, thou
inexhaustible fountain of mercy, for if I do not fulfil
what he expected when he entreated me to sing before
him, and I see that he lets me go disappointed, the
peace of this heart will be destroyed! Hear,
oh, hear me, august Queen of Heaven!”

Relieved and strengthened, she at last sprang up,
and a few minutes after Frau Lerch, with loud exclamations
of admiration, was combing her long, thick, waving
locks of fair hair.

Overflowing with delight at such beauty, the thin
little woman then helped her “darling Wawerl,”
her “wonderfully sweet nightingale,” to
change her dress.

Wolf’s gift, the velvet robe with the marten
border, would have been too heavy and oppressive for
singing, and, besides, was not yet finished.
Barbara, she declared, had done right to choose the
white one, which was intended for the next dance at
the New Scales. Nothing could be more becoming
to her enchanting little princess, and Barbara yielded
herself entirely to the experienced assistant, who
had all the laces and ribbons she needed close at
hand. She could even supply her with new and dainty
satin shoes.

Page 95

While Frau Lerch was working with wonderful dexterity,
she also permitted her nimble tongue no rest.
In the tenderest accents of faithful maternal solicitude
she counselled her how to conduct herself in his Majesty’s
presence. Hurriedly showing Barbara how the stiff
Spanish ladies of the court curtsied, she exclaimed:
“And another thing, my darling pet: It is
important for all ladies, even those of royal blood,
to try to win the favour of so great a monarch when
they meet him for the first time. You can use
your eyes, too, and how effectually! I saw you
a short time ago, and, if I had been a young gentleman,
how gladly I would have changed places with the handsome
recruiting officer Pyramus at the New Scales!
That was a flaming fire! Now, isn’t it true,
darling—­now we no longer have even a single
glance for such insignificant fellows! Consider
that settled! But things of that sort have no
effect upon his august Majesty. You must cast
down your sparkling blue eyes in modest embarrassment,
as if you still wore the confirmation wreath.
All the fashionable sons of the burghers complain
of your repellent coldness. Let his Majesty feel
it too. That will pour oil on the flames, and
they must blaze up high; I’d stake both my hands
on it, much as I need them. But if it results
as I expect, my darling, don’t forget old Lerch,
who loves you even more than your own mother did.
How beautiful and stately she was! But she forgot
her little Wawerl only too often. I have a faithful
nature, child, and understand life. If, sooner
or later, you need the advice of a true, helpful friend,
you know where to find little old Lerch.”

These warnings had sounded impressive enough, but
Barbara had by no means listened attentively.
Instead, she had been anticipating, with torturing
impatience, her appearance before the great man for
whom she was adorned and the songs which she would
have to sing. If she was permitted to choose
herself, he would also hear the bird-song, with the
“Car la saison est bonne,” which had extorted
such enthusiastic applause from the Netherland maestro.

But no!

She must choose something grander, more solemn, for
she wished to make a deeper, stronger, more lasting
impression upon the man who was now to listen to her
voice.

Mere lukewarm satisfaction would not content her in
the case of the Emperor Charles; she wished to arouse
his enthusiasm, his rapture. What bliss it would
be if she was permitted to penetrate deeply into his
soul, if it were allotted to her to make the ruler’s
grave eyes sparkle with radiant delight!

In increasing excitement, she saw herself, in imagination,
lowering the sheet of music, and the sovereign, deeply
moved, holding out both hands to her.

But that would have been too much happiness!
What if the violent throbbing of her heart should
silence her voice? What if the oppressive timidity,
which conquers every one who for the first time is
permitted to stand in the presence of majesty, should
cause her to lose her memory and be unable to find
the mood which she required in order to execute her
task with the perfection that hovered before her mind?

Page 96

Yes, that would happen! With cruel self-torture
she dwelt upon the terrible dread, for she thought
she had noticed that the best success often followed
when she had expected the worst result. Fran Lerch
perceived what was passing in her mind, and instilled
courage until she had finished her work and held up
the mirror before Barbara.

The girl, whether she desired to do so or not, could
not help looking in. She did it reluctantly,
and, after hastily assuring herself that she was presentable,
she turned the glittering disk away and would not glance
at it again.

She feared that the contemplation of her own image
might disturb her; she wished to think only of the
worthy execution of her task, and the shorter time
she kept the Emperor waiting the less she need fear
having an ill-humoured listener.

So she hurriedly ejaculated a few words of gratitude
to the old attendant and seized the kerchief for her
head, which she had taken to Prufening with her; but
the dressmaker wound around her hair a costly lace
veil which she had ready for a customer.

“The valuable article may be lost,” she
thought. “But if, sooner or later, something
happens which my lambkin, who thinks only of her sweet
babble, does not dream, it will return to me with interest.
Besides, she must see what maternal affection I feel
for her.” Then, with tender caution, she
kissed the girl’s glowing cheeks, and the blessing
with which she at last dismissed her sounded devout
and loving enough.

Wolf had not waited long; it was just striking eleven
when Barbara met him at the door talking with Herr
Lerch, the owner of the house.

Before leaving the Grieb, she again glanced into the
chapel in the courtyard dedicated to Saint Dorothea,
and uttered a swift though silent prayer for good
success, and that her singing might have a deep influence
upon the august hearer.

Meanwhile she scarcely heeded what her friend was
saying, and, while walking at his side the short distance
through a part of Red Cock Street and across the Haidplatz,
he had no words from her lips except the request that
he would tell her father of the great honour awaiting
her.

Wolf, too, had imposed silence upon himself; it was
necessary for the singer, on the eve of this important
performance, to refrain from talking in the night
air.

CHAPTER XV.

Baron Malfalconnet possessed the gift of lending Time
wings and using the simplest incident as the foundation
for an entertaining story.

He knew that his Majesty did not like waiting, and
the quarter of an hour which Barbara had mentioned
might easily become a longer period. So he adorned
the description of his ride as an envoy most generously
with many partially invented details. Wolf, Herr
Peter Schlumperger, Frau Kastenmayr, his estimable
sister, and the party of Ratisbon excursionists, upon
whom he had scarcely bestowed a passing glance, all
played a large and by no means enviable part.

Page 97

But he gained his object, for the impatient monarch
listened gladly, and all the more willingly in proportion
to the more brilliant eloquence with which the clever
connoisseur of mankind placed Barbara in contrast to
all the obscure, insignificant, and ridiculous personages
whom he pretended to have met. The peculiar charm
which her individuality thus obtained corresponded
with the idea which the monarch himself had formed
of the expected guest, and it flattered him to hear
his conjecture so remarkably confirmed.

A few questions from the monarch followed the baron’s
report. While the latter was still answering
the last one, Chamberlain de Praet announced the singer’s
arrival, and Count Bueren escorted the aged Marquise
de Leria to the monarch.

The Emperor went at once to the table, and as he descended
the stairs, leaning lightly on Malfalconnet’s
arm, it was scarcely perceptible that he used the
left foot less firmly than the other.

According to his command, only the small table at
which he was to sit with the marquise had been laid
in the dining-room. The boy choir had taken a
position opposite to it.

At his entrance Barbara rose quickly from the chair,
into which she had sunk by no means from weariness.

With a throbbing heart, and still heavily oppressed
by anxiety, she awaited the next moments and what
they would bring.

The Benedictio Mensae was again to open the concert.
She needed no notes for this familiar music.
Yet she looked toward Appenzelder, who had thanked
her for her appearance as if she had done him a great
favour.

Now the orchestra behind her was silent. Now
she saw the lackeys and attendants bow profoundly.
Now Appenzelder raised his arm.

She saw it, but he had not yet touched the desk with
the little ebony staff, and she availed herself of
the pause to glance toward the anxiously expected
sovereign, whose presence she felt.

There he stood.

Barbara scarcely noticed the old lady at his left;
he, he alone captivated her eyes, her heart, her senses,
her whole being.

What a happy surprise!

How Wolf, Maestro Gombert, and others had described
the Emperor, and how he stood before her!

This chivalrous, superb, almost youthful gentleman
and hero, whose haughty, self-assured bearing so admirably
suited the magnificence of his rich-hued garments,
was said to be a gouty old man, bowed by the weight
of care! Had it not been so abominable, it would
have tempted her to laugh.

How petty men were, how cruel was the fate of the
great, to whom envy clings like their own shadow,
and whose image was basely distorted even by those
who knew the grandeur of their intellect and their
deeds, and who owed to them their best success in
life!

Her heart beat for this man, not only with the artist’s
desire to satisfy the connoisseur, no, but with stormy
passion—­she felt it now; yet, though the
god of love was called a blind boy, she had retained
the full, clear strength of vision and the absolute
power of discernment.

Page 98

No one, not even the handsomest young knight, could
compare in her eyes with the mature, powerful guide
of the destiny of many millions, whose lofty brow
was illumined by the grandeur of his intellect, and
with whose name the memory of glorious victories was
associated. The pride justified by his birth
had led him from one lofty deed to another, and he
could not help carrying his head so high, for how
far all the rest of mankind lay beneath him!
There was no living mortal to whom the Emperor Charles
would have been obliged to look up, or before whom
he need bow his head at all.

She would fain have been able to stamp his image deeply,
ineffaceably upon her soul. But, alas!

Just at that moment a short, imperious sound reached
her ear. Appenzelder had struck the desk with
his baton. The Benedictio must begin at once,
and now her breath was really coming so quickly that
it seemed impossible for her to sing in this condition.

Deeply troubled, she pressed her hand upon her bosom.

Then the cruel, tyrannical baton struck the wood a
second time, and——­

But what did this mean?

The Emperor had left his elderly companion after she
was seated at the table, and was advancing—­her
eyes, clouded by anxious expectation, did not deceive
her—­and was walking with stately dignity
toward the boy choir; no, not to it, but directly
toward herself.—­Now it seemed as though
her heart stood still.

At no price could she have produced even a single
note.

But it was not required, for the wave of the imperial
hand which she saw was to Appenzelder, and commanded
him to silence his choir.

The unexpected movement concerned her alone, and ere
Barbara found time to ask herself what brought him
to her, he already stood before her.

How friendly and yet how chivalrously stately as the
slight bow which the monarch bestowed upon her; and
he had scarcely done so when, in peculiar German,
whose strange accent seemed to her extremely charming
and musical, he exclaimed: “we welcome
you to the Golden Cross, fairest of maidens.
You now behold what man can accomplish when he strives
for anything with genuine zeal. The wisest among
the wise declare that even gods fail in the conflict
against the obstinacy of beautiful women, and yet
our longing desire succeeded in capturing you, lovely
fugitive.”

Barbara alternately flushed and paled as she listened
to these words.

She had not heard Frau Lerch’s counsel, and
yet, obedient to a secret impulse, she timidly lowered
her blue eyes. But not a word of the sovereign
had escaped her, and, though she still lacked the power
of speech, she found courage to smile and shake her
head in denial.

The Emperor did not miss a single change of feature,
and, swiftly understanding her mute contradiction,
went on gaily: “Look! look! So, fairest
of the fair, you refuse to acknowledge our glorious
victory? That bears witness to a specially independent
comprehension of things. But we, how are we to
explain such a denial of an accomplished fact?”

Page 99

Then Barbara summoned up courage and answered, still
with downcast eyes, “But, your Majesty, how
can I regard myself as conquered and captured when
I voluntarily yielded to your Majesty’s wish?”

“And may I perhaps also hope that it gives you
pleasure to grant my entreaty?” asked the sovereign
in a subdued tone, gazing as he spoke deep into the
eyes which the young girl had just raised to his.

Barbara did not instantly find the reply she sought,
and only bent her head in assent, but the Emperor
was not satisfied with this mute answer, and eagerly
desired to learn whether it was so difficult for her
to admit what he so ardently wished to hear.

Meanwhile her quick intellect had found the fitting
response, and, with a look which told the questioner
more than she intended to betray, she answered softly:
“Why should I not have fulfilled your Majesty’s
request gladly and proudly? But what followed
the walk here, what befell me here, is so much more
beautiful and greater—­”

“And may we know,” interrupted the Emperor
urgently, “what you find here that affords your
heart so much pleasure?

“You and your favour,” she answered quickly,
and the flush which suddenly crimsoned her cheeks
showed him how deeply she was moved.

Then Charles went close to her and whispered:
“And do you wish to know, most bewitching woman,
how he, in whose presence you confess that you are
glad to remain, looked forward to your coming?
As he would greet happiness, spring. And note
that I look you in the face, it seems as though Easter
bells were pealing the resurrection of a love long
buried in this breast. And you, maiden, you will
not belie this hope?”

Barbara clung to the back of the chair for support,
while from her deeply agitated soul struggled the
exclamation: “This poor heart, my lord,
belongs to you—­to you alone! How it
mastered me, who can describe? But here, my lord,
now——­”

Then the monarch whispered warmly: “You
are right. What we have to say to each other
requires a more fitting time and a different place,
and we will find them.”

Then he stepped back, drew himself up to his full
height, waved his hand to her with gracious condescension,
and in a loud, imperious tone commanded Appenzelder
to begin the Benedictio.

“It rests with the lovely artist yonder,”
he added, glancing kindly at Barbara, “whether
she will now ennoble with her wonderful voice the
singing of the boy choir. Later she will probably
allow us to hear the closing melody of the ‘Ecce
tu pulchra es’, which, with such good reason,
delighted the Queen of Hungary, and myself no less.”

He seated himself at the table as he spoke, and devoted
himself to the dishes offered him so eagerly that
it was difficult to believe in the deep, yearning
emotion that ruled him. Only the marquise at his
side and Malfalconnet, who had joined the attendant
nobles, perceived that he ate more rapidly than usual,
and paid no attention to the preparation of the viands.

Page 100

The aged eyes, of the Emperor’s watchful companion,
to whom up to the close of the repast he addressed
only a few scattered words, also detected something
else. Rarely, but nevertheless several times,
the Emperor glanced at the boy choir, and when, in
doing so, his Majesty’s eyes met the singer’s,
it was done in a way which proved to the marquise,
who had acquired profound experience at the French
court, that an understanding existed between the sovereign
and the artist which could scarcely date from that
day. This circumstance must be considered, and
behind the narrow, wrinkled brow of the old woman,
whose cradle had stood in a ducal palace, thronged
a succession of thoughts and plans precisely similar
to those which had filled the mind of the dressmaker
and ex-maid ere she gave Barbara her farewell kiss.

What the marquise at first had merely conjectured
and put together from various signs, became, by constant
assiduous observation, complete certainty when the
singer, after a tolerably long pause, joined in Josquin’s
hymn to the Virgin.

In the Benedictio Mensae she remained silent, but
at the first effective passage joined in the singing
of the boys.

Not until the ‘Tu pulchra es’ did she
display the full power of her art.

From the commencement she took part in the execution
of this magnificent composition eagerly and with deep
feeling, and when the closing bars began and the magic
of her singing developed all its heart-thrilling power,
the watchful lady in waiting perceived that his Majesty
forgot the food and hung on Barbara’s lips as
though spellbound.

This was something unprecedented. But when the
monarch continued for some time to display an abstemiousness
so unlike him, the marquise cast a hasty glance of
inquiry at Malfalconnet. But the affirmative answer
which she expected did not come. Had the baron’s
keen eye failed to notice so important a matter, or
had his Majesty taken him into his confidence and
commanded him to keep the secret?

That Malfalconnet was merely avoiding making common
cause with the old intriguer, was a suspicion which
vanity led her to reject the more positively the more
frequently her countryman sought her to learn what
he desired to know.

Besides, she soon required no further confirmation,
for what now happened put an end to every doubt.

Barbara had to sing the “Quia amore langueo”
again, and how it sounded this time to the listening
hearer!

No voice which the Emperor Charles had ever heard
had put such pure, bewitching melody into this expression
of the deepest yearning. It seemed as though
the longing of the whole world was flowing to him from
those fresh, young, beautifully formed red lips.

A heart which was not itself languishing for love
could not pour forth to another with such convincing
truth, overwhelming power, and glowing fervour the
ardent longing of a soul seized by the omnipotence
of love.

Page 101

The mighty pressure of rising surges of yearning dashed
against the monarch’s heart, and with tremendous
impetuosity roused on all sides the tender desires
which for a long time had been gathering in his soul.
It seemed as though this “Because I long for
love” was blending with the long-repressed and
now uncontrollable yearning that filled his own breast,
and he was obliged to restrain himself in order not
to rush toward this gifted singer, this marvellously
lovely woman, whose heart was his, and, before the
eyes of all, clasp her in his embrace.

The master of dissimulation forgot himself, and—­what
a delight to the eyes of the marquise!—­the
Emperor Charles, the great epicure and thirsty drinker,
left the pasty and the wine, to listen standing, with
hands resting on the table and outstretched head,
to Barbara’s voice.

It seemed as though he feared his ear might miss a
note of this song, his eye a movement of this source
of melody.

But when the song ceased, and Barbara, panting for
breath, returned the ardent look of gratitude and
delight which beamed upon her from his eyes, the Emperor
left the table, and, without noticing Count Krockow,
who was just lifting the silver cover from the roast
capon, the last of the five dishes ordered, went up
to Barbara.

Would he really end the meal now? The old marquise
thought it impossible, but if the incredible event
occurred, then things were to be expected, things——­

But ere she had imagined how this unprecedented event
could take place, the Emperor himself informed her,
for, half addressing Barbara, half the lady in waiting,
he exclaimed in a slightly muffled tone: “Thanks,
cordial thanks for this great pleasure, my dear Jungfrau!
But we wish to add to words another token of appreciation,
a token of more lasting duration.—­Do us
the favour, Marquise de Leria, to conduct this noble
artist to the upper rooms, that she may receive what
we intended for her.”

He left the hall as he spoke; but the marquise beckoned
to Barbara, detained her with words of sweet flattery
a short time and then, with the young girl, ascended
the stairs up which the Emperor had preceded them.

Meanwhile the old noblewoman continued to talk with
her; but Barbara did not listen. While following
her guide, it seemed as though the steps her light
foot trod were a heavenly ladder, and at their end
the gates of Paradise would open.

She felt with inexpressible delight that she had never
before succeeded so well in expressing a strong feeling
in music, and what her song endeavoured to tell the
Emperor—­no, the man whom she loved—­had
been understood, and found an echo in his soul.

Could there be a greater happiness?

And yet, while she was approaching him, he must be
awaiting her.

She had wished to arouse his attention, his approval,
his delight in her singing. All three had become
hers, and now new wishes had mastered her, and probably
him also. She desired his love, he hers, and,
fearing herself, she felt the great peril into which
her aged companion was conducting her.

Page 102

The Emperor was indeed the greatest and noblest of
men! The mere consciousness that he desired not
only her singing, but her heart, inspired the deepest
bliss. Yet it seemed as if she ought not to cross
the threshold of the room which opened before her;
as if she ought to rush down the stairs and fly from
him, as she had dashed away when his messengers wished
to lead her to his presence.

But he was already advancing from the end of the large
apartment, and the mere sight of him put an end to
every further consideration and crushed her will.

Obedient to a glance from the Emperor’s eyes,
the marquise, bowing reverently, retreated into the
corridor whence they had come and closed the door.

The clang against the jambs told Barbara that she
was alone with the ruler of half the world, whom she
dared to love.

But she was not granted a moment to collect her thoughts;
the Emperor Charles already stood before her, and
with the exclamation, “Quia amore langueo!”
opened his arms.

She, too, was longing for love, and, as if intoxicated
by the lofty feeling of being deemed worthy of the
heart of this mighty sovereign, she yielded to his
kisses; and as she herself threw her arm around his
neck and felt—­that she had a right to do
so, it seemed as though an invisible hand was placing
a royal crown upon her brow.

The joy which filled her little heart appeared too
rich and great for it when, repeating the “Amore
langueo” with her head upon his breast, he whispered
sweet love phrases and confessed that those words,
since she had sung them for the first time, had echoed
through his hours of reflection, through the cares
of business, through the brief hours of repose which
he allowed himself, and so it must continue, and her
love, her voice, and her beauty render the downward
path of life the fairest portion which he had traversed.

Then Barbara, with the low exclamation, “Because
I, too, long for love,” again offered him her
lips, and he accepted the sweet invitation with impetuous
passion.

Already, for the second time since her entrance, the
clock on Charles’s writing-table struck the
quarter of an hour, and, as if startled from a deep
slumber, she withdrew from his embrace and gazed, as
if bewildered, toward the door. Directly after
it opened, and Don Luis Quijada with firm step entered
the room.

The trusted favourite of the Emperor was always free
to seek his presence. He had returned to Ratisbon
in advance of the Queen of Hungary, who would not
arrive until the following morning, and, after a brief
conversation with Malfalconnet and Master Adrian, the
loyal nobleman had gone without delay, and at the
risk of angering him, to his imperial master.
Without even rising from the divan, and still clasping
the hand which Barbara attempted to withdraw as Don
Luis advanced, Charles asked with stern rebuke what
had caused his entrance at so late an hour. Quijada
requested a brief audience, but Charles replied that
he had nothing to conceal from this companion.

Page 103

A low bow followed this remark; then, with quiet dignity,
the major-domo reported that the leaders of the orchestra
and the boy choir had been waiting below—­and
with them Sir Wolf Hartschwert and an old gentleman,
the father of this lady—­a considerable time
for her return. So it seemed to him advisable,
unless his majesty wished to reveal this sweet secret
to the world, to part from his beautiful friend, at
least for a short space.

The Emperor Charles did not permit such suggestions
even from those who were nearest and dearest to him,
and he was already starting up indignantly to thrust
Don Luis back behind the barriers through which he
had broken, when Barbara with tender persuasion entreated
her lover, for her sake, to exercise caution.
Charles at last consented to part from her for a time.
He was sure of her; for he read in the dewy brightness
of her eyes how hard it was for her also to release
herself from his embrace.

Then, removing the diamond and ruby star from the
lace at his neck, he pinned it on Barbara’s
bosom, with the exclamation, “In memory of this
hour!”

He afterward added, as if in explanation, that the
star might show to those below what had detained her
here, and asked earnestly whether he might hope to
see her again in an hour, if a faithful man—­here
he motioned to Quijada—­accompanied her
hither, and later escorted her home again?

A silent nod promised the fulfilment of this request.

The Emperor then carried on a short conversation with
Quijada, which was unintelligible to Barbara; and
after he had retired to summon the marquise, Charles
profited, like an impetuous youth, by the brief period
in which he was again alone with his love, and entreated
her to consider that, if she remained absent long,
the “amore langueo” would rob him of his
reason.

“Your great intellect,” she replied, with
a faint sigh. “My small wits—­Holy
Virgin!—­flew far away at the first word
of love from the lips of my royal master.”

Then, drawing herself up to her full height, she passed
her hand across her brow and defiantly exclaimed:
“And why should I think and ponder? I will
be happy, and make you happy also, my only love!”

As she spoke she again threw herself upon his breast,
but only for a few brief moments. Don Luis Quijada
reappeared with the marquise, and conducted both ladies
out of the imperial apartment.

Outside the door the major-domo detained Barbara,
and had a tolerably long conversation with her, of
which the marquise vainly endeavoured to catch even
a few words.

At last he committed the girl to the old nobleman’s
charge and returned to the Emperor.

The marquise received Barbara with the assurance that
she had found in her a warm, nay, a maternal friend.

If this beautiful creature was not alreadv the object
of the Emperor’s love, the experienced old woman
told herself, she must very soon become so.

Page 104

Yet there had never been a favourite at this monarch’s
court, and she was curious to learn what position
would be assigned to her.

After accompanying the girl intrusted to her care
down the stairs with flattering kindness, she committed
her to the musicians and Wolf, who, with old Blomberg,
were awaiting her in the chapel with increasing impatience.
The captain had obtained admittance through Wolf.

At her first glance at Barbara the eyes of the old
marquise had rested on the glittering star which the
Emperor had fastened on the lady of his love.

The men did not notice it until after they had congratulated
the singer upon her exquisite performance and the
effect which it had produced upon his Majesty.

Maestro Gombert perceived it before the others, and
Captain Blomberg and Wolf rejoiced with him and Appenzelder
over this tangible proof of the imperial favour.

A conversation about the Emperor’s judgment
and the rarity with which he bestowed such costly
tokens of his regard was commencing in the chapel,
but Barbara speedily brought it to a close by the assurance
that she was utterly exhausted and needed rest.

On the way home she said very little, but when Wolf,
in the second story of the house, held out his hand
in farewell, she pressed it warmly, and thanked him
with such evident emotion that the young man entered
his rooms full of hope and deep secret satisfaction.

After Barbara had crossed the threshold of hers, she
said good-night to her father, who wished to learn
all sorts of details, alleging that she could scarcely
speak from weariness.

The old gentleman went to rest grumbling over the
weakness of women in these days, to which even his
sturdy lass now succumbed; but Barbara threw herself
on her knees beside the bed in her room, buried her
face in the pillows, and sobbed aloud. Another
feeling, however, soon silenced her desire to weep.
Her lover’s image and the memory of the happy
moments which she had just experienced returned to
her mind. Besides, she must hasten to arrange
her hair again, and—­this time with her own
hands—­change her clothing.

While she was loosening her golden tresses and gazing
into the mirror, her eyes again sparkled with joy.
The greatest, the loftiest of mortals loved her.
She belonged to him, body and soul, and she had been
permitted to call him “her own.”

At this thought she drew herself up still more haughtily
in proud self-consciousness, but, as her glance fell
upon the image of the Virgin above the priedieu, she
again bowed her head.

Doubtless she desired to pray, but she could not.

She need confess nothing to the august Queen of Heaven.
She knew that she had neither sought nor desired what
now burdened her heart so heavily, and yet rendered
her so infinitely happy. She had obeyed the Emperor’s
summons in order to win approval and applause for her
art, and to afford the monarch a little pleasure and
cheer, and, instead, the love of the greatest of all
men had flamed ardently from the earth, she had left
her whole heart with him, and given herself and all
that was in her into his power. Now he summoned
her—­the Holy Virgin knew this, too—­and
she must obey, though the pure face yonder looked
so grave and threatening.

Page 105

And for what boon could she beseech the Queen of Heaven?

What more had the woman, to whom the Emperor’s
heart belonged, to desire?

The calmness of her soul was at an end, and not for
all the kingdoms Charles possessed would she have
exchanged the tumult and turmoil in her breast for
the peace which she had enjoyed yesterday.

Obeying a defiant impulse, she turned from the benign
face, and her hands fairly flew as, still more violently
agitated, she completed the changes in her dress.

In unfastening the star, her lover’s gift, she
saw upon the gold at the back Charles’s motto,
“Plus ultra!”

Barbara had known it before, but had not thought of
it for a long time, and a slight tremor ran through
her frame as she said to herself that, from early
childhood, though unconsciously, it had been hers also.
Heaven—­she knew it now—­Fate destined
them for each other.

Sighing heavily, she went at last, in a street dress,
to open the bow-window which looked upon Red Cock
Street.

Barbara felt as if she had outgrown herself.
The pathos which she had often expressed in singing
solemn church music took possession of her, and left
no room in her soul for any frivolous emotion.
Proud of the lofty passion which drew her with such
mighty power to her lover’s arms, she cast aside
the remorse, the anxiety, the deep sense of wrong which
had overpowered her on her return home.

What was greater than the certainty of being beloved
by the greatest of men? It raised her far above
all other women, and, since she loved him in return,
this certainty could not fail to make her happy also,
when she had once fully recovered her composure and
ventured to look the wonderful event which had happened
freely in the face.

The stars themselves, following their appointed course
in yonder blue firmament—­his device taught
that—­made her belong to him. If she
could have forced herself to silence the desire of
her heart, it would have been futile. Whoever
divides two trees which have grown from a single root,
she said to herself, destroys at least one; but she
would live, would be happy on the highest summit of
existence. She could not help obeying his summons,
for as soon as she listened to the warning voice within,
the “Because I long for love” with which
he had clasped her in his arms, urged her with irresistible
power toward the lover who awaited her coming.

The clock now struck two, and a tall figure in a Spanish
cloak stood outside the door of the house. It
was Don Luis Quijada, the Emperor’s majordomo.

It would not do to keep him waiting, and, as she turned
back into the room to take the little lamp, her glance
again fell upon the Virgin’s image above the
priedieu and rested upon her head.

Then the figure of her imperial lover stood in tangible
distinctness before her mind, and she imagined that
she again heard the first cry of longing with which
he clasped her in his arms, and without further thought
or consideration she kissed her hand to the image,
extinguished the little lamp, and hurried as fast
as the darkness permitted into the entry and down
the stairs.

Page 106

Outside the house Wolf returned to her memory a moment.

How faithfully he loved her!

Yet was it not difficult to understand how she could
even think of the poor fellow at all while hastening
to the illustrious sovereign whose heart was hers,
and who had taught her with what impetuous power true
love seizes upon the soul. Barbara threw her head
back proudly, and, drawing a long breath, opened the
door of the house. Outside she was received by
Quijada with a silent bend of the head; but she remembered
the far more profound bows with which he greeted the
monarch, and, to show him of how lofty a nature was
also the woman whom the Emperor Charles deemed worthy
of his love, she walked with queenly dignity through
the darkness at her aristocratic companion’s
side without vouchsafing him a single glance.

Two hours later old Ursula was sitting sleepless in
her bed in the second story of the cantor house.
A slight noise was heard on the stairs, and the one-eyed
maid-servant who was watching beside her exclaimed:
“There it is again! just as it was striking
two I said that the rats were coming up from the cellar
into the house.”

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 4.

CHAPTER XVI.

“Poor Wolf!” old Ursel had exclaimed.
But whoever had met the young knight the following
morning, as he went up the stairs to the Blombergs’
rooms, would have deemed him, like Baron Malfalconnet,
the happiest of mortals.

He had obeyed Dr. Hiltner’s summons, and remained
a long time with him. Then he went home at a
rapid pace, for he longed to tell Barbara how fair
a prospect for their future was opening before him.

She had showed her liking for him plainly enough yesterday
when they parted. What should prevent her from
becoming his now that he could promise an ample income?

There was some one stirring in the private chapel
as he passed, but he paid no heed; in former days
many people from the neighbourhood prayed here frequently.

He found no one in the Blombergs’ home except
the father.

Barbara would certainly return immediately, the old
man said. She had gone down to the chapel a short
time before. She was not in the habit of doing
so at this hour, but the great favour shown her by
the Emperor had probably gone to her head, and who
could wonder?

Wolf also thought it natural that so great a success
should excite her powerfully: but he, too, had
a similar one to relate, and, with joyful emotion,
he now told the old gentleman what the syndic had offered.

Page 107

The Council, which, by the establishment of the “Convivium,”
had already provided for the fostering of the noble
art of music, wished to do still more. The project
had been dear to the recently deceased Martin Luther,
and the Ratisbon syndic, who had enjoyed his friendship,
thought he was carrying out his wishes——­

Here Wolf was interrupted, for the table groaned under
the blow of the old warrior’s still powerful
fist, coupled with the exclamation: “So
there is still to be no rest from the accursed disturber
of the peace, although he is dead! No offence,
my lad; but there can be nothing edifying to a good
Christian where that Wittenberg fellow is concerned.”

“Only have patience,” Wolf interposed
here, secure of victory, and now, slightly vexed with
himself for his imprudence in mentioning Martin Luther’s
name to the old hater of Turks and heretics, he explained
that Dr. Hiltner, in the name of the Council, had
offered him the position of Damian Feys, Barbara’s
teacher. The Netherlander was going home, and
the magistrate was glad to have found in him, Wolf,
a native of Ratisbon who would be no less skilled
in fostering music in this good city. To bind
him securely, and avoid the danger of a speedy invitation
elsewhere, the position offered was provided with
an annual salary hitherto unprecedented in this country,
and which far exceeded that of many an imperial councillor.
This had been rendered possible through a bequest,
whose interest was to be devoted to the development
of music, and—­if he should accept the place—­to
him and his future wife.

When he heard this, he would fain have instantly bestowed
the most beautiful candles upon the Holy Virgin, but
the scruple concerning religion had prevented his
rejoicing fully; and when he told the syndic that
under no circumstances could he abandon the old faith,
it was done with the fear that the glittering bird
would fly away from him. But the result had been
different, for Dr. Hiltner replied that religion did
not enter into the matter. He knew Wolf and his
peaceful nature, and therefore hoped that he would
be advised that music was a language equally intelligible
to all persons of feeling, whatever tongue they spoke
and whatever creed they preferred. This opinion
was also that of the Catholic maestro Feys, and he
had therefore escaped all difficulty. Wolf must,
of course, consider the circumstances which he would
find here. If he would accommodate himself to
them, the Council would be willing to overlook his
faith; besides, Hiltner, on his own authority, had
given him the three days’ time to reflect, for
which he had asked on Barbara’s account.

A long-drawn “H’m” from Blomberg
followed this disclosure. Then he shook his clumsy
head, and, grasping his mustache with his hand, as
if he wanted in that way to stop the motion of his
head, he said thoughtfully: “Not a whole
thing, Wolf, rather a double one, or—­if
we look at it differently—­it is only a
half, for an honest friend of our Holy Church.
The way into which they tempt you is paved with gold,
but—­but—­I see the snares and
pitfalls——­”

Page 108

He rose as he spoke, muttering all sorts of unintelligible
things, until he finally exclaimed, “Yet perhaps
one might——­”

Then he looked impatiently toward the door, and asked:
“Where is the girl loitering? Would Eve
probably bite the apple of temptation also?”

“Shall I call her?” cried Wolf eagerly.

“No, no,” said the captain. “It
is sinful to disturb even our nearest relatives at
prayer. Besides, you would not believe how the
maestro’s praises and the imperial gift have
excited the vanity in her woman’s nature.
For the first time in I know not how many years, she
overslept the hour of mass. It was probably ten
o’clock when I knocked at her chamber door.
Toward eleven there was a movement in her room.
Then I opened the door to bid her good-morning, but
she neither heard nor saw anything, and knelt at the
priedieu as if turned to stone. Before going
to sleep and early in the morning I expect such things,
but when it is almost noon! Her porridge still
stood untouched on the table here, and to-day there
is no occasion for fasting. But I did not like
to disturb her, and perhaps she would still be kneeling
before the Virgin’s image if the maid-servant
hadn’t blundered in to carry a bouquet which
Herr Peter Schlumperger’s servant had brought.
Then Barbara started up as if a hornet had stung her.
And how she looked at me! Once—­I knew
it instantly—­I had gazed into such a marvellously
beautiful face, such helpless blue eyes. Afterward
I remembered who and where it had been. God guard
me from sinning against my own child, but that was
exactly the way the young girl looked who they—­it
was farther back in the past than you can remember—­burned
here for a witch, as the halberdiers and monks led
her to the place of execution. Susanne Schindler—­that
was her name—­was the daughter of a respectable
notary’s clerk, who was obliged to wander about
the world a great deal, and perished in Hungary just
as she reached womanhood. Her mother had died
when she was born, and an old woman had taken care
of her out of friendship. People called the lass
’beautiful Susel,’ and she was wonderfully
charming. Pink and white, like the maiden in
the fairy tale, and with glittering golden hair just
like my Wawerl’s. The old woman with whom
she lived—­her aunt or some other relative—­had
long practised the healing of all sorts of infirmities,
and when a young Spanish count, who had come here
with the Emperor Charles to the Reichstag in the year
’31, fell under his horse in leaping a ditch,
his limbs were injured so that he could not use them.
As he did not recover under the care of the Knights
of St. John, who first nursed him, he went to the
herb doctress, and she took charge of him, and cured
him, too, although the skill of the most famous doctors
and surgeons had failed to help him.

“But, to make amends, Satan, who probably had
the largest share in the miracle, visited him with
the sorest evil, for ‘beautiful Susel,’
who was the old woman’s assistant, had so bewitched
the young count that he not only fell in love with
her, but actually desired to make her his wife.

Page 109

“Then all the noble relatives at home interfered.
The Holy Inquisition commanded the investigation of
the case, and sent a stern vicar general to direct
the proceedings of the Dominicans, who had seized the
temptress. Then it came to light that ‘beautiful
Susel’ had bewitched the luckless young count
and robbed him of reason by her wicked arts.

“The old woman, whom they had also examined,
escaped her just punishment because she died of the
plague, which was raging here at that time, but ‘beautiful
Susel’ was burned, and I looked on while it was
done.

“When the Dominicans had led her to the stake,
she turned toward the people who had flocked here
from all quarters. Many doubtless pitied her
on account of her marvellous beauty, and because the
devil had given her the mask of the most touching
kindness of heart; but she gazed directly into my
face with her large, blue eyes as I stood close by,
and for years I saw the witch’s look distinctly
before me. Yet what do we not at last forget?
And now it must happen that what reminded me of her
again is my own innocent child! Wawerl just looked
into my eyes as if ’beautiful Susel’ had
risen from her grave. It was not long, yet it
seemed as if she shrank in terror from me, her own
clear father. She gazed up at me in helpless
despair, as if she feared God and the world.

“I have learned little about shivering, but
a chill ran down my spine. Of course, I did not
let her notice anything. Poor child! after the
honour bestowed yesterday, I thought there would be
nothing to-day except laughter and loud singing.
But my grandmother used to say that the grief which
tortures a young girl—­she herself knows
not why—­is the hardest to bear, and then
Barbara must now make up her mind about marriage, for,
besides you, there are Peter Schlumperger and young
Crafft to be considered.

“I remembered all this, and so, as usual, I
took her face between my hands to give her her morning
kiss. She always offers me her lips, but to-day
she turned away so that my mouth barely brushed her
cheeks. ‘Women’s whims!’ I
thought, and therefore let it pass. You can imagine
how glad I should have been to hear something more
about yesterday evening, but I made no objection when
she wished to go to the chapel at once, because she
had overslept the hour of mass. She would be back
again before the porridge was heated. But the
little bowl has stood there probably three quarters
of an hour, and we are still waiting in vain.”

Here he paused in his voluble flow of speech, and
then burst forth angrily: “The devil may
understand such a girl’s soul! Usually Wawerl
does just the opposite of what one expects; but if
she does accept you, she will—­as an honest
man I ought not to conceal it from you—­she
will give you many a riddle to guess. Whims and
freaks are as plenty with her as buttercups in spring
turf; but you can’t find a more pious girl in
all Ratisbon. From ancient times the motto of
the Blombergs has been ’Faith, Courage, and
Honour,’ and for that very reason it seems to
me highly improbable that Wawerl would advise you
to accept an office which, after all, will force you
to yield to the will of heretical superiors. The
high pay alone will hardly win her.”

Page 110

“It will not?” asked Wolf in astonishment.
“It is for her alone, not for myself, that I
value the increased income.”

“For her?” repeated the old man, shrugging
his shoulders incredulously. “Open your
eyes, and you will see what she cares for gold and
jewels.”

“The splendid bouquet there—­do you
suppose that she even looked at it? Bright pinks,
red roses, and stately lilies in the centre. Where
were they obtained, since April is scarcely past?
And yet she threw the costly birthday gift aside as
if the flowers were apple parings. It was not
she, but I, who afterward put them in the pitcher,
for I can’t bear to see any of God’s creatures
thirst, even though it is only a flower. Besides,
we both know that the fullest purse in the city, and
a man worthy of all respect to boot, are attached
to the bouquet. Yes, indeed! For a long
time she has been unwilling to share my poverty, and
if Herr Peter had remained loyal to our holy religion,
I would persuade her myself.”

Here, exhausted by his eager speech, he paused with
flushed cheeks—­for it was a hot day—­and
raised his long arm to take his hat from the hook,
to refresh his dry palate at the tavern.

But, after a brief pause for reflection, he restored
it to its place.

He had remembered that he had not stirred a finger
that morning, and had promised to have an inscription
on a jug completed early the next day. Besides,
the baker had not been paid for four weeks, so, sighing
heavily, he dragged himself to the workbench to move
the burin with a weary hand.

Wolf had followed him with his eyes, and the sight
of the chivalrous hero, the father of the girl whom
he loved, undertaking such a wretched occupation,
in such a mood, pierced him to the heart.

“Father Blomberg,” he said warmly, putting
his hand on his shoulder, “let your graver rest.
I am a suitor for your child’s hand. We
are old friends, and if from my abundance I offer
you——­”

Here the hot-blooded old man furiously exclaimed:
“Don’t forget to whom you are speaking,
young fellow! How important he feels because he
gets his living at court! True, there is no abundance
here; but I practise this art merely because I choose,
and because it cools my hot blood in this lukewarm
time of peace. But if on that account,”
he added threateningly, while his prominent eyes protruded
even farther than usual, “you ever again venture
to talk to me as though I were a day labourer or a
receiver of alms——­”

Here he hesitated, for in the midst of his outbreak
Barbara had noiselessly entered the room. Now
she approached him, and, in a more gentle and affectionate
tone than she had ever used before, entreated him
to rest.

The captain, groaning, shook his head, but Barbara
stepped lightly upon the low wooden bench on which
he sat, drew his gray head toward her, and tenderly
stroked his hair and beard, whispering: “Rise,
father, and let somebody else finish the engraving,
it is so cool and shady in the green woods where the
birds are singing, and only yesterday you praised the
refreshing drink at the Red Cock.”

Page 111

Here he impatiently, yet with a pleased senile, endeavoured
to release himself from her arms, but she interrupted
his exclamation, “Don’t you know, Miss
Thoughtless,” with the whispered entreaty:
“Here me out first, father! Maestro Appenzelder
asked me to add my voice to the boy choir a few times
more, and yesterday evening the treasurer told me that
the Queen of Hungary had commissioned him to give
me as many ducats as the boys received pennies.”

She spoke the truth; but the old man laughed heartily
in his deep tones, cast a quick glance at Wolf, who
was looking up at his weapons, and, lowering his voice,
cried gaily, “That’s what I call a feminine
Chrysostomus or golden mouth, and I should think——­”

Here he hesitated, for a doubt arose in his chivalrous
mind whether it was seemly for a young girl who belonged
to a knightly race to accept payment for her singing.
But the thought that it came from the hand of royalty,
and that even the great Duke of Alba, the renowned
Granvelles, and so many princes, counts, and barons
received golden wages for their services from the
Emperor’s hand, put an end to these scruples.

So, in a happier frame of mind than he had experienced
for a long time, he said in a low tone, that he might
not be understood by their guest: “Greater
people than we rejoice in the gifts which emperors
and kings bestow, and—­we can use them,
can’t we?”

Then he rubbed his hands, laughed as if he had outwitted
the people of whom he was thinking, and whispered
to his daughter: “The baker will wonder
when he gets paid this time in glittering gold, and
the butcher and Master Reinhard! My boots still
creak softly when I step, and you know what that means.
The soles of your little shoes probably only sing,
but they, too, are not silent.”

The old man, released from a heavy burden of care,
laughed merrily again at this jest, and then, raising
his voice, told his daughter and Wolf that he would
first get a cool drink and then go outside the gate
wherever his lame foot might carry him. Would
not the young nobleman accompany him?

But Wolf preferred to stay with Barbara, that he might
plead his cause in person. There was something
so quiet and diffident in her manner. If she
would not listen to him to-day, she never would.
In saying farewell, the captain remarked that he would
not meddle in the affair of the Council. Wawerl
alone must decide that.

“When I return home,” he concluded, “you
will have come to an agreement, and, whatever the
determination may be, I shall be satisfied. Perhaps
some bright idea may come to me, too, over the wine.
I’ll go to the Black Bear, where I always meet
fellow-soldiers.”

Then he raised his hand with a gay farewell salute,
and left the room.

CHAPTER XVII.

As soon as the captain’s limping steps died
away on the stairs, Wolf summoned all his courage
and moved nearer to Barbara.

Page 112

His heart throbbed anxiously as he told himself that
the next few minutes would decide his future destiny.

As he saw her before him, fairer than ever, with downcast
eyes, silent and timid, without a trace of the triumphant
self-assurance which she had gained during his absence,
he firmly believed that he had made the right choice,
and that her consent would render him the most enviable
of happy mortals. If she refused him her hand—­he
felt this no less plainly—­his life would
be forever robbed of light and joy.

True, he was no longer as blithe and full of hope
as when he entered her plain lodgings a short time
before.

The doubt of the worthy man, behind whom the house
door had just closed, had awakened his doubts also.
Yet what he now had it in his power to offer, since
his conversation with the syndic, was by no means trivial.
He must hold fast to it, and as he raised his eyes
more freely to her his courage increased, for she
was still gazing at the floor in silent submission,
as if ready to commit her fate into his hands; nay,
in the brief seconds during which his eyes rested
upon her, he perceived an expression which seemed
wholly alien to her features, and bestowed upon this
usually alert, self-assured, vivacious creature an
air of weary helplessness.

While he was generally obliged to maintain an attitude
of defence toward her, she now seemed to need friendly
consolation. So, obeying a hasty impulse, he
warmly extended both hands, and in a gentle, sympathizing
tone exclaimed, “Wawerl, my dear girl, what troubles
you?”

Then her glance met his, and her blue eyes flashed
upon him with an expression of defiant resistance;
but he could not help thinking of the young witch
who was said to have resembled her, and a presentiment
told him that she was lost to him.

The confirmation of this foreboding was not delayed,
for in a tone whose repellent sternness startled him,
she angrily burst forth: “What should trouble
me? It as ill becomes you to question me with
such looks and queries as it pleases me.”
Wolf, in bewilderment, assured her that she had seemed
to him especially charming in her gracious gentleness.
If anything had happened to cloud her fearless joyousness,
let her forget it, for the matter now to be considered
concerned the happiness of two human lives.

That was what she was saying to herself, Barbara replied
in a more friendly tone, and, with newly awakened
hope, the young knight informed her that the time
had now come when, without offending against modesty,
he might call himself a “made man.”

With increasing eagerness and confidence he then told
her what the councillor had offered. Without
concealing her father’s scruples, he added the
assurance that he felt perfectly secure against the
temptations of which there would certainly be no lack
while he was in the service of a Protestant magistracy.

“And when you, devout, pure, true girl, stand
by my side,” he concluded with an ardour which
surprised Barbara in this quiet, reserved man, “when
you are once mine, my one love, then I shall conquer
the hardest obstacle as if it were mere pastime, then
I would not change places with the Emperor, for then
my happiness would be——­”

Page 113

Hitherto she had silently permitted him to speak,
but now her cheeks suddenly flamed with a deep flush,
and she warmly interrupted: “You deserve
to be happy, Wolf, and I could desire nothing more
ardently than to see you glad and content; but you
would never become so through me. How pale you
grow! For my sake, do not take it so much to heart;
it grieves me to see you suffer. Only believe
that. It cuts me to the heart to inflict such
great sorrow upon one so loyal, good, and dear, who
values me so much more than I deserve.”

Here Wolf, deeply agitated, wildly called her name,
and besought her not to cast aside so harshly the
wealth of love and fidelity which he offered.

His own anguish of soul, and the pain inflicted by
the cruel blow which crushed his dearest hopes, robbed
him of fortitude and calmness. With tears in
his eyes, he threw himself on his knees before her
and gazed into her face with anxious entreaty, exclaiming
brokenly: “Do not—­do not inflict
this suffering upon me, Wawerl! Rob me of everything
except hope. Defer your acceptance until I can
offer you a still fairer future, only be merciful
and leave me hope!”

Tears now began to glitter in Barbara’s eyes
also, and Wolf, noticing it, hastened with reviving
courage to assure her how little it would cost him
to reject, once for all, to please her, the tempting
position offered to him here. He could soon obtain
a good office elsewhere, since their Majesties were
not only favourably disposed toward him, but now toward
her also. True, to him even the most brilliant
external gifts of life would be valueless and charmless
without her love.

But here Barbara imperatively commanded him to rise,
and not make his own heart and hers still heavier
without avail.

Wolf pressed his hands upon his temples as violently
as if he feared losing his senses; but the young girl
voluntarily put her arm around his shoulders, and
said with sincere emotion: “Poor Wolf!
I know how thoroughly in earnest you are, but I dare
not even leave you hope—­I neither can nor
ought. Yet you may hear this: From my childhood
you have been dearer to me than any one else, and
never shall I forget how firmly you cling to me, how
hard it is for you to give me up.”

Then Sir Wolf vehemently asked to know what stood
between them; and Barbara, after a brief pause for
reflection, answered, “Love for another.”

The confession pierced him like a dagger thrust, and
he passionately entreated her to tell him the name
of the man who had defrauded him of the happiness
to which he possessed an older and better right than
any one else.

He paced the room with long strides as he spoke, gazing
around him as if he imagined that she had his rival
concealed somewhere.

In doing so his glance fell upon Herr Schlumperger’s
bouquet, and he wildly cried: “He?
So, after all, wealth——­”

But this was too much for Barbara, and she stopped
him with the exclamation: “Fool that you
are! As if You did not know that I am not to
be bought for the paltry florins of a Ratisbon moneybag!”

Page 114

But the next instant she had repented her outbreak,
and in words so loving and gentle, so tender and considerate
that his heart melted and he would fain have flung
himself again at her feet, she explained to him more
particularly why she was obliged to inflict this suffering
upon him.

Her heart was no longer free, and precisely because
he was worthy of the whole affection of a loyal heart
she would not repay him in worthless metal for the
pure gold of his love. She was no prophetess,
yet she knew full well that some day he would bless
this hour. What she concealed from every one,
even her father, as an inviolable secret, she had confessed
to him because he deserved her confidence.

Then she began to speak of Dr. Hiltner’s offer,
and discussed its pros and cons with interest as warm
as if her own fate was to be associated with his.

The result was that she dissuaded him from settling
in Ratisbon. She expected higher achievements
from him than he could attain here among the Protestants,
who, on account of his faith, would place many a stumbling-block
in his way.

Then, changing her businesslike tone, she went on
with greater warmth to urge him, for her sake, and
that he might be the same to her as ever, to remain
loyal to the religion they both professed. She
could not fulfil his hopes, it is true, but her thoughts
would often dwell with him and her wishes would follow
him everywhere. His place was at court, where
some day he would win a distinguished position, and
nothing could render her happier than the news that
he had attained the highest honour, esteem, and fame.

How gentle and kind all this sounded! Wolf had
not imagined that she could be so thoughtful, so forgetful
of self, and so affectionate in her sympathy.
He hung upon her lips in silent admiration, yet it
was impossible for him to determine whether this sisterly
affection from Barbara was pouring balm or acrid lye
upon his wounds.

Positively as she had refused to answer his question
concerning the happy mortal whom she preferred to
him, Wolf could not help secretly searching for him.

Agitated and tortured to the verge of despair, even
the friendliness with which she was trying to sweeten
his cruel fate became unbearable, and while she was
entreating him to continue to care for her and to remain
on the same terms of intimacy with her father and
herself, he suddenly seized her hand, covered it with
ardent kisses, and then, without a farewell word,
hastily left the room.

When Barbara was alone she retired into the bow-window
and fell into a silent reverie, during which she often
shook her head, as if amazed at herself, and often
curled her full lips in a haughty smile.

The maid-servant brought in the modest meal.

Her father had forgotten it, but he would undoubtedly
find more substantial viands at the Black Bear.
Barbara was speedily satisfied. How poorly the
food was cooked, how unappetizing was the serving!
When the maid had removed the dishes, Barbara continued
her reverie, and even her father had never gazed into
vacancy with such gloomy earnestness.

Page 115

What would she now have given for a mother, a reliable,
faithful confidante! But she had none; and Wolf,
on whose unselfish love she could depend, was the
last person whom she could initiate into her secret.

Her father!

If she had confided to him the matter which so deeply
troubled her and yet filled her with the greatest
pride, the poor old warrior, who valued honour far
more than life, would have turned her out of the house.

Early that morning she had averted her lips from his
because she felt as if the Emperor’s kiss had
consecrated them. She was still under the mastery
of the feeling that some disagreeable dream had borne
her back to these miserable rooms, while her true
place was in the magnificent apartments of royalty.

She had slept too late to attend mass, and therefore
went to the private chapel, the abode of the only
confidante to whom she could open her whole heart
without reserve or timidity—­the Mother of
God.

She had done this with entire devotion, and endeavoured
to reflect upon what had happened and what obligations
she must meet. But she had had little success,
for as soon as she began to think, her august lover
rose before her eyes, she imagined that she heard
his tender words, and her mind wandered to the future.

Only she had clearly perceived that she had lost something
infinitely great, and obtained in its place something
that was far more exquisite, that she had been deemed
worthy of a loftier honour, a richer happiness than
any one else.

Ah, yes, she was happy, more than happy, and yet not
entirely so, for happiness must be bright, and a dark,
harassing shadow fell again and again over the sunny
enthusiasm which irradiated her nature and lent her
a haughtier bearing.

She ascribed it to the novelty of her elevation to
a height of which she had never dreamed. Eyes
accustomed to twilight must also endure pain, she
told herself, ere they became used to the brilliance
of the sun.

Perhaps Heaven, in return for such superabundant gifts,
demanded a sacrifice, and denied complete enjoyment.
She would gladly do all in her power to satisfy the
claim, and so she formed the resolve—­which
seemed to her to possess an atoning power—­no
longer to deceive the worthy man who loved her so
loyally, and for whom she felt an affection. At
the very next opportunity Wolf should learn that she
could never become his, and when she had just confessed
it so gently and lovingly, she had only fulfilled
the vow made in the chapel before the Virgin’s
image. There, too, she had determined, if the
Emperor ever gave her any power over his decisions,
to reward Wolf’s loyal love by interceding for
him wherever it could be done.

Now he had left her; but she could wait for her father
no longer. She must go to Fran Lerch.

The idea of confiding to her the secret which filled
her with happy dread was far from her thoughts; but
love had both increased her vanity tenfold, and confined
it within narrower limits. She could not be beautiful
enough for the lover who awaited her, yet she wished
to be beautiful for him alone. But her stock
of gowns and finery was so very scanty, and no one
understood how to set off her charms so well as the
obliging, experienced old woman, who had an expedient
for every emergency.

Page 116

Retiring to her little bow-windowed room, she examined
her store of clothes.

There, too, lay her royal lover’s gift, the
glittering star.

She involuntarily seized it to take the jewel to the
Grieb and show it to the old woman; but the next instant,
with a strange feeling of dissatisfaction, she flung
it back again among the other contents of the chest.

Thus, in her impetuous fashion, she thrust it out
of her sight. Maestro Gombert had pronounced
the star extremely valuable, and she desired nothing
from the Emperor Charles, nothing from her beloved
lord save his love.

She had already reached the outer door, when her two
Woller cousins from the Ark greeted her. They
were merry girls, by no means plain, and very fond
of her. The younger, Anne Mirl, was even considered
pretty, and had many suitors. They had learned
from their house steward, who had been told by a fellow-countryman
in the royal service, that his Majesty had rewarded
Barbara for her exquisite singing with a magnificent
ornament, and they wanted to see it.

So Barbara was obliged to open the chest again, and
when the star flashed upon them the rich girls clapped
their hands in admiration, and Anne Mirl did not understand
how any one could toss such an exquisite memento into
a chest as if it were a worn-out glove. If the
Emperor Charles had honoured her with such a gift,
she would never remove it from her neck, but even
wear it to bed.

“Everybody to her taste,” replied Barbara
curtly, shrugging her shoulders.

Never had her cousins seemed to her so insignificant
and commonplace; and, besides, their visit was extremely
inopportune.

But the Woller sisters were accustomed to see her
in all sorts of moods, and Nandl, the elder, a quiet,
thoughtful girl, asked her how she felt. To possess
such heavenly gifts as her voice and her beauty must
be the most glorious of all glorious things.

“And the honour, the honour!” cried Anne
Mirl. “Do you know, Wawerl, one might almost
want to poison you from sheer envy and jealousy.
Holy Virgin! To be in your place when you sing
to the Emperor Charles again! And to talk with
him as you would to anybody else!”

Barbara assured them that she would tell the whole
story at their next meeting, but she had no time to
spare now, for she was expected at the rehearsal.

The sisters then bade her good-bye, but asked to see
the star again, and Anne Mirl counted the jewels,
to be able to describe it to her mother exactly.

At last Barbara was free, but before, still vexed
by the detention, she could set out for Fran Lerch’s,
she heard loud voices upon the stairs. It startled
her, for if the Emperor sent Don Luis Quijada, or even
Baron Malfalconnet, to her wretched lodgings, it would
now be even more unpleasant than before.

Barbara was obliged to wait some time in vain.
Her cousins had been stopped below, and were talking
there with her father and another man. At last
the captain came stumping up the stairs with his limping
steps. Barbara noticed that he was hurrying,
and he reached the top more quickly than usual and
opened the door.

Page 117

He looked merry, and his massive but well-formed and
manly features were flushed. He came from Erbach
in the Black Bear, it is true, but in so short a time—­his
daughter knew that—­the spirits of the wine
could have done him no harm. Besides, his voice
sounded as deep and firm as usual as he called to
her from the threshold: “A guest, Wawerl,
a distinguished guest! A splendid fellow!
You’ve already spoken of him, and I made his
acquaintance in the Bear. I learned many and many
a piece of news from him about how things are going
in the world-news, I tell you, girl! My heart
is fairly dancing in my body. And, besides, a
little puss like you is always glad to hear of an
admirer, and only a short time ago you praised him
loudly enough as a splendid dancer. A downright
good fellow, child, just as I was myself at his age.
An uncle of his, a captain of arquebusiers, Pyramus
Kogel.”

Hitherto Barbara, with increasing displeasure, had
only suspected whom her father meant; but when he
now mentioned his new friend’s name, the indignant
blood crimsoned her cheeks.

She had liked the handsome officer, for it was true
that few men so well understood the art of guiding
a partner through the dance; she, fool that she was,
had made eyes at him in order not to let pretty Elspet
Zohrer have the precedence. But he had himself
confessed how much farther he had entered the snare
than she intended when, on her way home from Fran
Lerch’s after her meeting with Wolf, the young
officer had met her outside of the Grieb and sued
for her hand.

Now the amorous swain had probably tried his luck
with her father, and how the latter, in spite of poor
Wolf and Herr Schlumperger, had treated him was evident
from the fact that he, who usually closed his home
against old friends, opened it wide to this stranger.

This was not only unpleasant to Barbara, but anger
crimsoned her cheeks.

How dared the man whom she had so positively and sternly
refused venture to continue his suit? Since the
Emperor had loved her, she felt raised infinitely
above the poor nobleman. Nay, she considered it
a reprehensible impropriety that he still sought her.
And, besides what consequences the visit of so stately
a ladykiller, whose unusual height rendered him easily
recognised, might now entail upon her! Suppose
that he should meet a messenger from the Emperor on
the stairs, or it should be rumoured at court that
she received such visitors. How quickly whatever
happened in Ratisbon was noised abroad among the people
she had just learned through the Woller girls.

The happiness which filled her was so great that everything
which threatened to affect it, even remotely, alarmed
her, and thus anxiety blended with indignation as,
deeply agitated, she interrupted her father, and in
the most unfilial manner reproached him for allowing
the flattery of a boastful coxcomb to make him forget
what he owned to her and her good name.

Page 118

The brave champion of the faith dejectedly, almost
humbly, strove to soothe her, and at least induce
her not to offend his guest by unfriendly words; but
she ignored his warnings with defiant passion, and
when the recruiting officer, who had been detained
some time on the staircase by the Wollers, knocked
at the door, she shot the bolt noisily, calling to
her father in a tone so loud that it could not fail
to be heard outside: “I repeat it, I will
neither see nor speak to this importunate gentleman.
When he attacked me in the street at night, I thought
I showed him plainly enough how I felt. If he
forces his way into our house now, receive him, for
aught I care; you have a right to command here.
But if he undertakes to speak to me, he can wait for
an answer till the day of judgment!”

Then she hastily slipped the bolt back again, darted
past Pyramus Kogel, who did not know what had befallen
him, without vouchsafing him a single glance, and
then, with haughty composure, descended the stairs.

The officer, incapable of uttering a word, gazed after
her.

The feeling that attracted him to Barbara was something
entirely new, which since the last dance at the New
Scales had robbed him of sleep by night and rest by
day. He had fallen under her spell, body and soul,
and he, whose business took him from city to city,
from country to country, had resolved, ere he accosted
Barbara in the street, to give up the free, gay life
which he enjoyed with the eager zest of youth, and
seek her hand in marriage.

Her first rebuff had by no means discouraged him;
nay, the handsome, spoiled soldier was firmly convinced
that her ungracious treatment was not due to his proposal,
but to its certainly ill-chosen place. A wife
of such rigid austerity would suit him, for he would
often be compelled to leave her a long time alone.

When he heard the day before that he would find her
among Peter Schlumperger’s guests in Prufening,
he had joined them, as if by accident, toward evening,
and Barbara had danced with him twice.

In the schwabeln she had trusted herself to his guidance
even longer than usual, and with what perfect time,
with what passionate enjoyment she had whirled around
with him under the sway of the intense excitement which
had mastered her! He imagined that he felt her
heart throb against his own breast, and had surrendered
himself to the hope that it was newly awakened love
for him which had deprived her of her calm bearing.

True, she had refused his company on the way home,
but this was probably because she was afraid of being
gossipped about in connection with him.

Well satisfied with his success, he had gone to Red
Cock Street the next morning to renew his suit.
On the way he met her father, and in the Black Bear
had tried on the old warrior, with excellent success,
the art of winning other men, in which, as a recruiting
officer, he had become an adept.

Page 119

Joyously confident of victory, he had accepted Blomberg’s
invitation, and now had experienced an unprecedentedly
mortifying rebuff.

With a face blanched to the pallor of death, he stood
before the old man. The wound which he had received
burned so fiercely, and paralyzed his will so completely,
that the clumsy graybeard found fitting words sooner
than the ready, voluble trapper of men.

“You see,” the captain began, “what
is to be expected from one’s own child in these
days of insubordination and rebellion, though my Wawerl
is as firm in her faith as the tower at Tunis of which
I was telling you. But trust experience, Sir
Pyramus! It is easier, far easier for you to
exact obedience from a refractory squad of recruits
than for a father to guide his little daughter according
to his own will. For look! If it gets beyond
endurance, you can seize the lash, or, if that won’t
do, a weapon; but where a fragile girl like that is
concerned, we can’t give vent to our rage, and,
though she spoils the flavour of our food and drink
by her pouting and fretting, we must say kind words
to her into the bargain. Mine at least spares
me the weeping and wailing in which many indulge,
but it is easier to break iron than her obstinacy when
her will differs from that of the person whom, on
account of the fourth commandment, she——­”

Pyramus Kogel, with both hands resting on the large
basket handle of his long rapier, had listened to
him in silence; now he interrupted the captain with
the exclamation: “Iron against iron, comrade!
Throw it into the fire, and swing the hammer.
It will bend then. All that is needed is the
right man, and I know him. If I did not feel very
sorry for such a charming creature, I would laugh
at the insult and go my way. But, as it is, I
have a good memory, and it will be a pleasure, methinks,
to keep so unruly a beauty and artistic nightingale
in mind. It shall be done until my turn comes.
In my pursuit I do not always succeed at the first
attempt, but whoever I once fix my eyes upon comes
on the roll at last, and I will keep the foremost
place open for your lovely, refractory daughter.
We shall meet again, Captain, and I haven’t said
my last word to your ungracious daughter either.”

He held out his hand to Blomberg as he spoke, and
after a brief delay the latter clasped it.

The fearless foe of the Turks was troubled by the
recruiting officer’s mysterious menaces, but
his kind heart forbade him to add a new offence to
the bitter mortification inflicted upon this man by
his daughter. Besides, he had taken a special
fancy to the stately, vigorous soldier, whose height
and breadth of shoulder were little inferior to his
own, and while descending the stairs he thought, “It
would serve Wawerl right if yonder fellow put a stop
to her obstinacy, pranks, and caprices.”

But he quickly silenced the wish, for Barbara did
not often give the rein to her self-will so freely,
and her objectionable traits of character had been
inherited from her mother. She was a good girl
at heart, and how much pleasure and favour her beautiful
gift brought, how much honour came to him and his
ancient name through this rare child! Yet at that
time he was not aware of the new benefit he was to
owe to her within the next hour.

Page 120

Before Barbara had returned home the treasurer of
the imperial and royal musicians came to his house
and, in the regent’s name, handed him the gold
of which Barbara had spoken for services rendered in
the boy choir of her Majesty Queen Mary. He was
obliged to sign the receipt in his daughter’s
name, and when the portly Netherlander, who could also
make himself understood in German, asked where a sup
of good wine or beer could be had in Ratisbon, he
was ready to act as his guide.

Thanks to his daughter’s rich gifts, he need
not wield the graver any longer that day, and for
the second time could grant himself a special treat.

When he returned home he learned from the one-eyed
maid that Barbara had been summoned by the Queen of
Hungary to sing for her.

Weary as he was, he went to rest, and soon after the
young girl entered his room to bid him “good
night.”

The Queen had been very gracious, and after the singing
was over had inquired about hundreds of things—­who
had been her singing master, what her religion was,
whether her mother was still living, what calling her
father followed, whether he, too, had drawn the sword
against the Turks, her husband’s murderers,
whether she was accustomed to riding, and, lastly,
whether she was obliged to endure the narrow city streets
in the summer.

Barbara had then been able to answer that the Wollers
sometimes invited her to their country seat at Abbach,
and intentionally added that they were her nearest
relatives, and owned the Ark, the large, handsome family
mansion which stood exactly opposite to the Golden
Cross and her Majesty’s windows. She had
also often been the guest of her uncle Wolfgang Lorberer,
who stood at the head of the community at Landshut.

It had gratified her to boast of these distinguished
blood relations.

She had then been asked whether she could consent
to leave her father for a time to go into the country
with the old Marquise de Leria, whom she knew, and
who was charmed with the beauty of her singing.

The leech desired to remove the invalid lady in waiting
from the city air, and she had chosen Barbara for
a companion.

Here the young girl hesitated, and then carelessly
asked her father what he thought of the plan.

As Blomberg knew the name of Leria to be one of the
most aristocratic in the empire, and many things were
beckoning to him in the future in which Barbara’s
presence would only have been a hindrance, he left
the decision to her.

He had made the acquaintance at the Black Bear, through
Pyramus Kogel, of various soldiers who had fought
in the same ranks—­good Catholics, eager
for a fray, who were waiting here for the outbreak
of the war against the Smalkalds. What delightful
hours their companionship would bestow if Barbara
was provided for at present, now that he himself was
no longer obliged to save every shilling so carefully!

But he had also thought of something else which was
far more important, for the warlike conversation had
affected him as the blast of a trumpet stirs the battle
charger drawing a plough.

Page 121

He had found complete enjoyment of life only in war,
in the presence of death, in cutting and slashing,
and he felt by no means too old to keep his seat in
the saddle and lead his company of horsemen to the
assault. He was not mistaken there, and, besides
not only the recruiting officer, but also the scarred
old captain whom they called little Gorgl, asserted
that the Emperor would welcome every brave, tried soldier,
even though older than he, as soon as war was declared.

Meanwhile Pyramus Kogel was constantly in his mind,
and at last he thought it his duty to speak to Barbara
about her unseemly treatment of this estimable man.

He had intended ever since she entered to call her
to account for it, but, though he did not admit it
even to himself, the old soldier dreaded his daughter’s
firm power of resistance.

Yet he could not keep silence this time; her behaviour
had transgressed the bounds of propriety too far.

So he summoned up his courage, and, with a “What
I was going to say,” began to speak of the admirable
officer whom he had brought into his house.

Then, clearing his throat, he drew himself up, and,
raising his voice, asked how she dared to assail this
gallant nobleman with such abominable, arrogant, and
insulting words.

But he was to wait an answer in vain, for, with the
brief declaration that she had not come to be lectured
like a schoolgirl, Barbara banged the door behind
her. Directly after, however, she opened it again,
and with a pleasant, “No offence, father,”
wished the old gentleman a no less pleasant goodnight.

Then she went to her room, but in old Ursel’s
chamber, at the same hour as on the preceding night,
a similar conversation took place.

The one-eyed maid spoke of the rats which had forced
their way into the house, and the sick woman repeated
impatiently, “The rats!” and, with prudent
reserve, silently kept her thoughts to herself.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Queen of Hungary had returned home the evening
before, and on the following morning summoned Barbara
to the Golden Cross to sing with the boy choir.

When the major-domo, Quijada, obedient to her command,
entered the room at eleven o’clock, she called
to him: “Miracles, Luis, mighty miracles
in these godless times! I have just come from
his Majesty, and in what did I find him occupied?
Turning over music with Maestro Gombert—­of
course, for a female voice. Besides, he looked
as if he had just defeated the Turks and Frenchmen
at once. As for the gout, he’ll be dancing
the ‘hoppedei’ with the peasants presently.”

“Day before yesterday he surprised us by wearing
satin shoes,” remarked Quijada. “May
I congratulate you on the really magical effect of
your Majesty’s prescription?”

“Continue to think so, if it suits you,”
cried the Queen gaily. “Only a few powerful
drops from elsewhere have probably fallen into the
potion. But how stupidly artless you can look
when you feign ignorance, Luis! In this case,
however, you need not let your breathing be oppressed
by the mask. I bow to your masculine secrecy—­but
why did my worldly-wise brother mingle a petticoat
in this delicate business if he wishes to keep it
hidden?”

Page 122

“The Marquise Leria!” cried the major-domo,
shrugging his shoulders angrily, as if against an
inevitable misfortune.

“My, senior lady in waiting,” said the
regent in assent to this conjecture. “Make
haste to bestow a stately candle, because it is she,
and no one else. You might spare yourself that
smile; I know her better than you do. If she
had as many teeth as she possesses vices, she might
be happy; yet one admirable quality mingles with the
evil traits in her character.”

“And that?” asked Quijada, as if he deemed
a satisfactory answer impossible.

“Secrecy,” replied the Queen firmly.
“She keeps what she has overheard to herself
as closely as a miser guards his gold.”

“In order to turn it to account when the favourable
moment comes,” remarked the major-domo.
“Your Majesty will also permit me to observe
that if the marquise has already betrayed what was
intended to remain secret——­”

“Her boasted reticence can not be very great,
you think,” interrupted the Queen. “But
justice for all, my handsome lord. At present
she is in any service, and no other. Whose bread
I eat, his song I sing—­which in this case
means: His secret I keep, and to him I carry whatever
I discover. Besides, this time even the person
betrayed owes her a debt of gratitude, for you know
how difficult it is for him to use his limbs, and she
is most obligingly smoothing the path for him.
I tell you, Luis, with all due respect for his Majesty
as a general and a statesman, in a skirmish of intrigue
this woman will outwit you all. The schemes her
aged brain invents have neither fault nor flaw.
The wheels work upon one another as they do in the
Emperor’s best Nuremberg clock. I want to
watch their turning before I go, for, be it known
to you, early tomorrow morning—­the saints
be praised!—­I start for Brussels.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Quijada with an expression
of sincere regret; but the Queen gravely said:
“There can be no further delay, Luis. It
may sound improbable that there is something which
draws me back to the Netherlands more strongly than
the desire for freedom of movement, a pleasant ride
through the forest, and the excitement of the chase,
which lends spice to the insipidity of my life, yet
you may believe it.”

“Business matters?” asked the nobleman
anxiously.

The Queen nodded assent, and then eagerly continued:
“And important ones which his Majesty himself
solemnly enjoined upon me to hasten my departure.
His zeal resembled a rude gesture toward the door,
as much as one rotten egg looks like another, for,
under certain circumstances, the affectionate brother
prefers to have his beloved sister as far away as
possible. Had I been of a more obstinate nature,
I would stay; but there really are matters to be settled
in the Netherlands which can not be deferred, and
the manner of his farewell showed plainly enough that
he no longer needed me. Merciful Heaven!
When we parted yesterday, I dreaded his Majesty’s

Page 123

anger. I had left him in the lurch to gratify
my own love for copse and forest. I had remained
beyond the allotted time, and had resolved, bend or
break, to return to my post in Brussels. When
I rode in here I really felt as though I was entering
the lion’s den. But then came miracle after
miracle. Do you know something, Luis? The
best results have often followed my most reckless
acts.”

“Probably because even your Majesty’s
least prudent deeds merit a modest reward,”
replied Quijada, “and because, besides the heavenly
powers, there are also less estimable ones that meddle
with the affairs of this world.”

“Perhaps so!” exclaimed the Queen, astonished
at this idea. “Perhaps the Prince of Darkness
finds pleasure in this affair, and, as a fair-minded
devil, is grateful to me. One thing is certain:
What a woman of my age could not tell her daughter
or—­if she has none—­her young
niece, she should not meddle with. All this is
by no means pleasing to me, and yet, Luis, yet We
ought to rejoice in this love affair, not only for
ourselves, but for his Majesty. De Soto, too,
I know, is satisfied; nay, it seems as if he saw a
special act of divine favour in this late blazing
of the flames of love in a heart whose fires had apparently
burned out.”

“Wherever this passion originates,” observed
Quijada, “it seems to have had a good influence
upon his Majesty’s mood. It is said that
Satan often designs evil and yet works good, and if
this late and very tender emotion is a gift of hell,
it nevertheless affords our sovereign lord unexpected
and therefore all the more exquisite joys.”

“In whose behalf it may also be said that they
are numbered among those which can hardly be approved,
or even forbidden ones,” the regent eagerly
interrupted. “But no matter! Happy
is he whose pathway at the beginning of life’s
evening is once more so brilliantly illumined by the
sun of love. In my devotion to the duties of
government and the chase, I have not yet wholly forgotten
enthusiasm. Whoever has once been really young
retains this advantage, and I have, Luis. Therefore
I could envy my beloved brother to-day no less sincerely
than I pitied him yesterday. Joy is the best
thing in life, and who bestows it more certainly and
lavishly than the little winged god? It is fortunate
for my Charles that he is again permitted to quaff
the beaker of happiness! Only too soon—­I
know it—­he will again withdraw it from
his lips with his own hand, if it were only because
the inclination to self-torture which he inherits,
the ascetic instinct, that constantly increases in
strength, destroys and stamps as sinful forgetfulness
of duty every pleasure which he enjoys for any length
of time. We will hope that he will not retain
this new happiness too briefly. It would be of
service to us all. What he might possibly have
granted me after long hesitation and consideration,
and with many a delay, he yielded after mass this
morning with smiling lips. Love expands the heart,

Page 124

and at the same time enlarges the views, especially
if it is not an unfortunate one; but this Barbara Blomberg
is a genuine daughter of Eve, over whom the mother
of nations, if she met her by chance, would rejoice.
A German Venus, whom I would gladly send to Titian
for a model. And her voice and the unexpected
good fortune of finding such a teacher here!
Appenzelder and Gombert are full of her praises.
Good heavens! How she sang yesterday evening!
It was enough to stir the dead. Afterward I drew
her aside for a short time.”

“And your Majesty did her the honour to feel
her teeth?”—­[A German phrase meaning
to sound a person’s intentions.—­TR.]—­queried
Quijada.

“Feel her teeth?” replied the Queen.
“It might have been worth while, for those that
glitter between her rosy lips are white and beautifully
formed. But I did even more—­I tested
the girl’s heart and mind.”

“And the result?”

“H’m!” said the Queen. “Very
favourable. Yet no. If I must be honest,
that is saying too little. She stood it very,
surprisingly well. Her intellect is anything
but limited; nay, her comprehension is so swift that
she can be sure of not trying his Majesty’s patience
unduly. Her manners, too, are not amiss for a
German; but what is the main point—­she
is pious, firm in the faith, and ardent in her hatred
of the foes of the Holy Church. My life upon
it! all this is as genuine as the diamond in my ring,
and so the white raven is complete. That she has
returned the Emperor Charles love for love by no means
sullies her plumage. In my eyes, it only shines
the more brightly, since one so great as he permits
her, though only for a short distance, to share his
glorious flight. This Barbara is certainly a
rare bird. But in the chase, and as regent of
a restless nation, one’s sight becomes keen—­”

“And now,” cried Quijada, “comes
the ‘but.’”

“It does come,” replied the regent firmly,
“and I will point it out to you. I only
found the trail; but you, Luis, as a good sportsman
and a loyal friend of his Majesty, will keep a sharp
watch upon it. This girl is obstinate to the
verge of defiance, vain, and unusually ambitious.”

“She has already shown us the obstinacy,”
observed the Castilian.

“When she wheeled her horse to escape you?”
asked the Queen.

“But there she was perfectly right. What
a heedless, inconsiderate masculine idea, to usher
a woman directly from a horseback ride into a company
of gentlemen to sing before the Emperor! As to
the vanity, I do not find much fault with that.
It would be far worse if she lacked it. One can
not imagine a genuine woman without it. It has
been called pride in charms which we do not possess,
but it also serves to place actual charms in a brighter
light, and that I expect from this fair one. If
she knows how to avoid extravagance, it will willingly
be indulged. But her ambition, Luis; perils may
arise from that. If it begins to stir too covetously,
remember your duty as watcher—­sound the
horn and set the packs upon her.”

Page 125

“For the sake of our sovereign lord, I will
not fail,” replied Quijada. “So far
as she herself is concerned, she is one of those women
whose beauty I acknowledge, but to whom I am indifferent.
More modest manners please me better.”

“You are thinking of Dona Magdalena de Ulloa,”
observed the Queen, “you poor loyal widower,
while the loveliest of wives still lives. Certainly
this German bears so little resemblance to her——­”

“That I most humbly entreat your Majesty,”
interposed Quijada with haughty decision, “not
to compare these two women, even by way of contrast.”

“B-r-r!” said the regent, extending her
hands toward him as if to repel an assault. “Yet
I like you in this mood, Luis. You are a true
Castilian! So we will leave Dona Magdalena in
her Villagarcia, and only permit myself to admire
the self-sacrifice of a woman who grants a husband
like you so long a leave of absence. As to the
Ratisbon maiden——­”

“I should be very glad to know,” Quijada
began, this time in a submissive tone, “by what
sign your Majesty’s penetration discovered this
young creature’s ambition.”

“That is soon told,” replied the regent
kindly. “She specially mentioned her distinguished
relatives in the city and in Landshut, and when I
advised her to show due respect to the marquise, who,
in spite of everything, is a woman of high rank and
certainly an old lady, before whose gray hairs Scripture
commands us to rise, something hovered around her
lips—­they are ripe for kisses—­something
which it is not easy to find exactly the right words
to describe: a blending of repugnance, self-assertion,
and resistance. She suffered it to remain on her
beautiful face only a few minutes, but it gave me reason
enough to urge you to sound a warning if his Majesty’s
late love should render him more yielding than is
desirable.”

“The warned man will heed what prescient wisdom
enjoins upon him,” the major-domo protested,
with his hand upon his heart. “But if I
know his Majesty, his strong and well-warranted sense
of imperial dignity will render my attentive solicitude
needless. The moment that the singer assails
it will put a speedy end to my royal master’s
love.”

The Queen shook her head, and answered doubtfully:
“If only you do not undervalue the blind boy-god’s
power! Yet it must be owned that your theory
has a certain degree of justification.”
She went to the window as she spoke, and added:
“Karlowitz, the minister of Duke Maurice of Saxony,
is leaving the house. He looks pleased, and if
he has come to an agreement with the Bishop of Arras,
that will also help to put the Emperor in a pleasant
mood—­”

“And all of us!” exclaimed Quijada, grasping
his sword hilt. “If this energetic young
prince, with his military ability and his army, joins
us, why, then——­”

“Then there will be war,” interrupted
the Queen, completing the sentence; “then there
will be great joy among you younger, belligerent Castilians!
What do you care for the tears of mothers and the blood
of husbands and sons? Both will flow in streams,
and, even if we were certain of victory—­which
we are not—­what will the gain be?”

Page 126

“For which I daily pray,” said the regent.
“But even if you succeeded in gaining a complete
victory, if every church in city and country again
belonged to the only faith by which we can obtain salvation,
I shall still see them deprived of their holy vocation,
for they will stand empty, because then the men who
would rather die than abjure their delusion will be
lying silent upon battlefields.”

“May they rot there!” cried the Spaniard.
“But we are not fighting only for to-day and
tomorrow. New generations will again fill churches
and chapels. We will shed the last drops of our
blood to accomplish it, and every true Castilian thinks
as I do.”

“I know it,” sighed the regent, “and
it is not my business to preach to deaf ears.
But one thing more: Do you know that his Majesty
has just accepted the Marquise de Leria’s offer?”

“No; but I should be greatly indebted to your
royal——­”

“Then listen,” the Queen hastily interrupted.
“In the suburb of Prebrunn, in a large garden,
stands the pretty little castle of the Prince Prior
of Berchtesgaden—­I don’t mean the
one belonging to the worthy Trainer, on whose preserves
we hunted once in April, and which is erroneously called
here the ‘cassl.’ The reverend owner
offered it to his Majesty to shelter a guest of high
rank. Now the marquise is to occupy it, because
country air would benefit her. The singer will
establish herself under the noblewoman’s maternal
care. You know the Marquise de Leria’s huge
litter, which was borne here by two strong mules that
Ruy Gomez—­what will not people do to find
out something?—­gave her. The black
ark, with the coats-of-arms of the De Lerias and the
Duke of Rency on the back, the front, and both sides,
is probably well known here. At first the boys
ran after the monster; now they are used to the thing,
and no longer notice it. But it is comfortable,
and it can be opened. When the old woman uses
the litter the cover will be removed and people will
see her; when it is closed, the most sharp-sighted
can not discover who is within. If his Majesty
desires to go out to Prebrunn and return here, he will
take it, and, even if his foot pains him, will reach
his fair goal unseen. The young girl consented
yesterday to move there with the marquise, and directly
after it will be your duty, aided by Master Adrian,
to attend to the furnishing of the little castle.
I will aid you. You will hear the particulars
from his Majesty. The marquise will take Barbara
directly to the chapel, where the choir is to sing.
People must become accustomed to see and speak of
the two together. What would you think of an alliance
between Leria and Blomberg? If I see correctly,
the old woman will train the girl to be a useful tool.”

“And if the tool cuts her fingers in the process,”
said Quijada, “I shall be glad.”

“So shall I!” assented the Queen, laughing.
Then she dismissed the major-domo, and a short time
later singing was heard in the chapel.

Page 127

The Emperor, after he had finished his meal, heard
it also, and listened to Barbara as if enraptured
when, in Hobrecht’s motet for five voices, Salve
crux arbor vitae, in the sublime O crux lignum triumphale,
she raised her voice with a power, a wealth of pious
devotion which he had never before heard in the execution
of this forceful composition.

The little Maltese Hannibal again acquitted himself
admirably, and in one of the duets in the second part
Johannes of Cologne could prove that he had recovered.

His young companion in illness had also escaped lasting
injury.

Appenzelder, too, showed himself fully satisfied with
Barbara’s execution. Something new and
powerful, rising from the inmost depth of the soul,
a passion of devout exaltation, rang in her voice which
he had not perceived during the first rehearsals.
Her art seemed to him to grow under his eyes like
a wonderful plant, and the quiet, reserved man expressed
his delight so unequivocally that the Emperor beckoned
to him and asked his opinion of the singer’s
performance.

The musician expressed with unreserved warmth the
emotions that filled his honest heart; but the monarch
listened approvingly, and drew from his finger a costly
ring to bestow it upon the discoverer of this glorious
jewel.

The leader of the choir, it is true, declined this
title of honour to award it to Sir Wolf Hartschwert;
but the Emperor asserted that he was grateful to him
also for many a service, and then ordered the gold
chain, which had long been intended for him, to be
brought for Maestro Gombert.

After these tokens of favour, which awakened the utmost
surprise in those who were present, as the Emperor
very rarely yielded to such impulses of generosity,
the monarch’s eyes sought Barbara’s, and
his glance seemed to say: “For your sake,
love. Thus shall those who have deserved it from
you be rewarded.”

Finally he accosted her, intentionally raising his
voice as he did so.

Word for word was intended to be heard by every one,
even the remark that he wished to make the acquaintance
of her father, whom he remembered as a brave comrade.
Barbara would oblige him if she would request him to
call upon him that afternoon. It was his duty
to thank the man through whose daughter he enjoyed
such lofty pleasure.

CHAPTER XIX.

A short time after, the Emperor Charles, accompanied
by the Queen of Hungary and several lords and ladies,
took a ride in the open air for the first time after
long seclusion.

According to his custom, he had spent Passion week
in the monastery. Easter had come on the latest
day possible—­the twenty-fifth of April—­and
when he bade farewell to the monks the gout had already
attacked him again.

Now he rode forth into the open country and the green
woods like a rescued man; the younger Granvelle, long
as he had been in his service, had never seen him
so gay and unconstrained. He could now understand
his father’s tales of his Majesty’s better
days, his vigorous manly strength and eager delight
in existence.

Page 128

True, the period of anxiety concerning the tidings
of political affairs which had arrived the day before
and that morning appeared to be over, for Herr von
Parlowitz, the minister of Duke Maurice of Saxony,
had expressed his conviction that this active young
monarch might be induced to separate from the other
Protestant princes and form an alliance with the Emperor,
especially as his Majesty had not the most distant
intention of mingling; religious matters in the war
that was impending.

Despatches had also been sent from Valladolid by Don
Philip, the Emperor’s oldest son, which afforded
the greatest satisfaction to the sovereign. If
war was waged against the Smalkalds, the allied Protestants
of Germany, Spain, which had been taught to regard
the campaign as a religious war, was ready to aid
Charles with large subsidies of money and men.

Lastly, it seemed as if two betrothals were to be
made which promised to sustain the Emperor’s
statesmanship. Two of his nieces, the daughters
of his brother Ferdinand, expected to marry—­one
the heir to the Bavarian throne, the other the Duke
of Cleves.

Thus many pleasant things came to him simultaneously
with his recovery, and his mind, inclined to mysticism,
received them as a sign that Heaven was favourable
to his late happiness in love.

Granvelle attributed the Emperor’s unexpectedly
rapid convalescence and the fortunate change which
had taken place in his gloomy mood to the favourable
political news, and perhaps also to the music which,
as a zealous patron of art, he himself loved.
He, who usually did not fail to note even the veriest
trifle when he desired to trace the motives of events
which were difficult to explain, now thought he need
seek no further for causes.

During the ride Barbara was not thought of, but in
the Golden Cross it was to become evident to the keen
intelligence of the young master of statecraft that
something extremely important might escape even his
penetration.

While waiting with Malfalconnet in the reception room
of the monarch, who had gone into his chamber, for
Charles’s return, and summing up to the baron
in a most charming way the causes which had effected
the wonderful rejuvenation of his Majesty, the other
showed him that he, Granvelle, had been short-sighted
enough to overlook the most powerful influence.

This would have been vexatious to the statesman had
not his mind been wholly occupied in considering how
this unexpected event could be made most profitable
to himself, and also to his master, whom he served
with loyal devotion.

Malfalconnet had received no confidence either from
the Emperor or any male member of the court, yet he
knew all, for, though the Marquise de Leria well deserved
the reputation of secrecy, she did not keep her tongue
sufficiently in check while talking with her gay countryman.
What she overheard, he succeeded by his amiable wiles
in learning, and this time also he had not failed.

Page 129

Soon after the Emperor had appeared again audience
was given to several ambassadors. Then Chamberlain
de Praet announced Captain Blomberg.

The latter, clad in full armour, entered the apartment.
Over the shining coat of mail, which he himself had
cleaned with the utmost care, he wore a somewhat faded
scarf, and his long battle sword hung at his left side.

The Emperor Charles accosted the father of the woman
he loved with the same blunt friendliness that so
easily won the hearts of the companions in arms to
whom he condescended.

Blomberg must tell him this thing and that, and the
old man gazed into his face with honest amazement
and sincere delight when the monarch supplied the
names of places and persons which had escaped his own
feeble memory.

He accepted the praise of his daughter with a smile
and the modest remark: “She is certainly
a dear, kind-hearted child; and as for her voice,
there were probably some to which people found less
pleasure in listening. But, your Majesty, that
of the nightingale battering down solid walls sounds
still more beautiful to me.”

The Emperor knew that the German cannoneers gave their
guns the name of nightingale, and was pleased with
the comparison.

But while he was still talking gaily with the old
warrior, who had really displayed truly leonine courage
on many an occasion, Count Buren brought in a new
despatch, remarking, as he did so, that unfortunately
the bearer, a young Spanish noble, had been thrown
from his horse just outside the city, and was lying
helpless with a broken leg.

Sincere compassion was expressed, in which the Bishop
of Arras joined, meanwhile glancing through the somewhat
lengthy document.

It came from the heir and regent, Don Philip, in Valladolid.
The prince desired to know the state of the negotiations
with Rome and with Duke Maurice of Saxony.

After Granvelle had read the despatch he handed it
to the monarch, and the latter, in a low tone, charged
him not yet to inform his son of the fair prospects
for an alliance with Maurice, but to send an answer
at once.

While the minister withdrew to the writing table,
the Emperor asked whether a trustworthy horseman could
be had, since the Spaniard was disabled; and Reitzenstein,
Beust, and Van der Kapellen, in whom implicit confidence
could be placed, had been sent off that morning.

Then the Bishop of Arras again turned to the monarch,
cast a significant glance at Malfalconnet, and, pointing
to Blomberg, eagerly exclaimed: “If this
valiant and faithful soldier still has a firm seat
in the saddle, this highly important message might
be intrusted to him.”

The proposal affected the adventure-loving old man
like music. With youthful fire he protested that
he could ride a horse as fast and endure fatigue as
long as the youngest man, even though the goal were
the end of the world.

Page 130

Such an exertion, however, was by no means expected
of him, for he was to set sail at Flushing and land
at Loredo in Spain. There Postmaster-General
de Tassis would furnish him with horses.

The Emperor had listened to this proposal from his
counsellor with a smile of satisfaction. His
purpose was sufficiently obvious.

How thoroughly this young diplomat understood men!
With how delicate a scent he had again discovered
a secret and removed a stone of offence from his master’s
path! He was competent to fill his clever father’s
place in every respect. It was evident that neither
promises nor gifts would have induced the old warrior
to favour the tender wishes of his imperial master.
Now he himself hastened to leave the field clear, and
Granvelle had foreseen how he would receive the proposal.
Charles intentionally refrained from taking any personal
share in the arrangements with the old man which now
followed. A communication from Malfalconnet appeared
to claim his whole attention, until the Bishop of
Arras announced that the captain had received his instructions
and was ready to set out for Flushing and Valladolid.

The monarch listened with a slight shake of the head,
and expressed his hesitation about intrusting so important
a message to a man of such advanced age; but Malfalconnet,
in a tone of good-natured anxiety, called to the captain,
“One may be the father of a nightingale, my brave
hero, and yet miss the way to the south without a
guide.”

“True, true,” the Emperor assented.
“So we will give our gallant friend a travelling
companion who understands Castilian, and on whom we
can also rely. Besides, affairs of so much moment
are better cared for by two messengers than by one.
What is the name of the cavalier, Malfalconnet, who
spoke to you of the friendship which unites him to
this brave old champion of the faith?”

“Wolf Hartschwert, your Majesty,” was
the reply.

“The musician,” said the monarch, as if
some memory was awakened in his mind. “A
modest fellow, whose reliability my sister praised.—­And
now, my vigorous friend, a prosperous journey!
Your daughter, whom the favour of Heaven has so richly
endowed with beautiful gifts, has found, I have heard,
a maternal guardian in the Marquise de Leria.
We, too, will gladly interest ourselves in the charming
singer who affords us such rare pleasure.”

As he spoke he showed his old companion in arms the
unusual honour of extending his hand to him, and when
the latter, deeply moved by such graciousness, ardently
kissed it, he hurriedly withdrew it, saying, as he
kindly patted his arm, “You are doing us a greater
service than you imagine, Captain Blomberg.”

Then, wishing him a successful journey, he went to
the writing table, on which the secretary Gastelu
had laid the newly received despatches.

Radiant with joy, the captain, making many profound
bows, left the apartment of the gracious monarch,
for whom now he would really have ridden to the world’s
end.

Page 131

On the stairs he was detained. Malfalconnet handed
him two heavy rolls of gold for the expenses of the
journey, and enjoined it upon him to be ready to set
out early the following morning. He might make
his own arrangements with Sir Wolf Hartschwert, and
assure him of his Majesty’s gratitude in advance.

A short time after, Barbara was packing the gray-haired
courier’s knapsack.

She had never yet worked for her father with so much
filial solicitude. Everything that might be of
use to him on the way was carefully considered.

Though she had not been taken into his confidence,
she knew the reason that he had been selected to undertake
this toilsome journey.

The Emperor Charles was sending the old man far away
that the happiness of her love might be undisturbed
and unclouded, and the consciousness weighed heavily
upon her by no means unduly sensitive conscience.

Wolf, who was already unhappy on her account, had
fared the same. When her father told her that
the knight was to accompany him, she had felt as if
an incident of her childhood, which had often disturbed
her dreams, was repeated.

She had been swinging with boyish recklessness in
the Woller garden. Suddenly one of the ropes
broke, and the board which supported her feet turned
over out of her reach. For a time, clinging with
her hands to the uninjured rope, she swayed between
heaven and earth. No one was near, and, though
she soon stood once more on the firm ground unhurt,
the moment when her feet, during the ascent, lost
their support, was associated with feelings of so
much terror that she—­who at that time was
considered the bravest of her playfellows—­had
never forgotten it.

Now she felt as though something similar had befallen
her.

She had seen the props on which she might depend removed
from under her feet. If her father and Wolf left
her, she would look in vain for counsel and support.

That her lover was the most powerful sovereign on
earth, and she could appeal to him if she needed help,
did not enter her mind. Nay, a vague foreboding
told her that he and what was associated with him formed
the power against which she must struggle.

The sham affection of the aristocratic lady who was
to be her chaperon; the Queen, who last evening had
catechised her as if she were a child, and whom she
distrusted; the servile flatterer, Malfalconnet, in
whose mirthful manner that day for the first time
she thought she had detected dislike and slight sarcasm;
the imperial love messenger, Don Luis Quijada, who
with icy, dutiful coldness scarcely vouchsafed a word
to her; and, lastly, the confessor Pedro de Soto,
who treated her like a person who needed pity, and
probably only awaited a fitting time to hurl an anathema
into her face—­passed before her memory,
and in all these persons, so far above her in birth
and rank, she believed that she saw foes.

But how was it with the man who could trample them
all in the dust like worms—­with her imperial
lover?

Page 132

Until now he had been observant of her every sign,
but yesterday night the lion had raised his paw against
her.

A slight pain had again made itself felt in his foot.
She had eagerly lamented it, and in doing so deplored
the fact that she would never be permitted to share
the pleasure of dancing with the man she loved and
who had first taught her how beautiful life was.
This perhaps incautious remark had roused the ire
of the suffering monarch.

How sensitive was this man’s consciousness of
sovereignty, how much suspicion and bitterness must
have gathered in his heart, if he could see in the
girl’s innocent compassion an offence to his
dignity, a humiliating reproach!

The rebuking sharpness with which he expressed his
displeasure had pierced her very soul. She felt
as if she were shivering with a sudden chill, and
for a long time she could not recover the loving warmth
with which she had previously treated him. True,
he had soon done everything in his power to atone
for the pain which his irritability had inflicted,
but the incident had given her the perception that
the poets whose songs she sung were right when they
made sorrow go hand in hand with the joys of love.

But as yet these joys of love far, far outweighed
the suffering which it caused.

Even while, before the full knapsack which only needed
locking, she was trying to discover what fault was
to be found with the man whom she loved, while saying
to herself that Charles’s inconsiderate, selfish
treatment of her father was unworthy of a generous
man, and while also thinking of the separation from
the faithful Wolf, her heart still longed for her
lover.

Was she not, after all, under obligation to be grateful
to him for everything for which she reproached him?

How dear she must be to this great sovereign, since,
in order to possess her freely and completely, he
allowed himself to be urged to an act which was unworthy
of him!

If he had wounded her deeply, he had a right to expect
her to excuse many things in him.

How he loved her, and how delicately he could woo
and flatter, and mingle with his tender speeches the
costly gifts of his rich and mobile intellect!
How beautifully and aptly he could speak of her own
art, and induce her to oppose to his clever remarks
her own modest opinion! He had cheerfully endured
contradiction the night before during the conversation
concerning music.

But what had followed her luckless regret about his
lame foot?

The words had pierced her heart like knives; even
now she did not understand where she obtained the
strength to withhold the sharp answer for which her
lips had already parted; but she knew her hasty spirit,
which only too easily led her to outbreaks of anger.
Had the power of love, or the magic spell which emanates
from genuine royalty, forced her to silence?

No matter.

A good angel had aided her to control herself, and
in a rapid prayer she besought the Holy Virgin to
assist her in future if her august lover again roused
her to rebellion.

Page 133

Now that she was losing her most sincere friends,
the only ones who might have ventured a kindly warning,
she must learn to guard herself.

Perhaps it was fortunate that she had already discovered
how necessary it was not only to show the mighty sovereign
to whom her heart belonged that he was dear to her,
but also to display the timid reverence with which
millions bowed before him. But if she imposed
this constraint upon herself, would her love still
remain the same?

“No, no, and again no!” cried the refractory
spirit within.

Was he not a weak, fallible mortal, subject, like
every one else, to suffering and disease, overcome
by his passion, who had even been guilty of an act
which, had it been committed by the son of a Ratisbon
family, would have seemed to her reprehensible?

Again and again this question forced itself upon her,
and with it another—­whether she, the woman
who had never tolerated such a thing from any one,
ought not to undertake to defend herself against unjust
assaults, which humiliated her in her own eyes, no
matter whence they might come?

Would she not hold a higher position in his sight
if she showed him, whom no one ventured to contradict,
that the woman he deemed worthy of his love dared
to defend her dignity, although he had deprived her
of her natural protectors?

Precisely because she was conscious of loving him
with her whole soul, because for his sake she had
given the world the right to deny her honour and dignity,
she was eager to show him that she prized both, and
was not inclined to let them be assailed.

Hitherto she had not regarded it as a disgrace, but
as the highest distinction, to be deemed worthy of
the love of the greatest monarch on earth, and, with
a sense of pride, had sacrificed her most sacred possession
to his wishes. But how could she retain this feeling
if he no longer showed her that he, too, regarded
her worthy of him?

She had defied custom, law, the voice of her own conscience,
and she did not regret that she had done so.
On no account would she have changed what had occurred
if only she succeeded in guarding herself from being
humiliated by her lover. To accomplish this, it
was worth while to confront a great danger boldly.
It was the greatest of all, the peril of losing him,
for what would she be if he deserted her?

At the bare thought a torturing dread overwhelmed
her.

Never had she felt so irresolute, so deeply agitated,
and she uttered a sigh of relief when her father returned
from his visit to old Ursel, and praised the care
with which she had selected the articles that filled
his knapsack.

The flushed cheeks which he noticed could scarcely
be the result of the light labour which she had performed
for him. With the instinct of paternal love,
he probably perceived that she was agitated, but he
had so little idea of the mental conflict which had
taken possession of her soul that her anxiety pleased
him. The separation must be hard for the poor
child, and how could the honour bestowed upon the father
fail to affect the daughter’s mind also.

Page 134

He had hoped to find Wolf in Ursel’s room, but
he had already been away some time, and had told the
old woman that he was going to the Hiltners, and should
probably remain there a long while, as his schoolmate,
Erasmus Eckhart, the nephew and adopted son of the
syndic and his wife, had returned home from Wittenberg.

To find Wolf and deliver the important message Blomberg
would have been obliged to enter the accursed heretic’s
house, and, rather than do it, he protested he would
inflict this and that upon himself.

But whom should he trust to represent him? The
best plan would be for Barbara to write to the young
knight, informing him of the honour in store for him.

He himself wielded the sword so much better than the
pen.

The obliging daughter put a speedy end to her father’s
embarrassment by offering to go in search of Wolf
in person; she by no means shunned the Hiltners.
In fact, the doctor’s wife had always been especially
kind to her at the Convivium musicum, and her young
daughter Martina, during the months in which she,
too, was permitted to sing in the chorus, had displayed,
whenever opportunity offered, an admiration for Barbara
which bordered on enthusiasm. Besides, there
was no obligation to keep Barbara from this errand;
the removal to Prebrunn to join the marquise was not
to take place until noon of the following day.

The pious captain, it is true, was as reluctant to
let his daughter go to the heretic’s as to a
pesthouse, but Wolf’s notification permitted
no delay, so he consented, and expressed his willingness
to accompany her.

CHAPTER XX.

Barbara had scarcely entered the street with her father
when they were stopped by Master Adrian, the Emperor’s
valet. He came from his Majesty to inform Blomberg
that the regent could not spare Sir Wolf Hartschwert,
and the captain might choose another companion for
his ride. The Emperor expected him to select
only a loyal, trustworthy, and vigorous nobleman who
had taken the oath of fealty to his Majesty. If
he should be in the military service, the necessary
leave of absence was granted in advance; only he must
present himself to the Lord Bishop of Arras that very
day. Sir Wolf Hartschwert must depart for Brussels
in the regent’s train early the next morning.

This news by no means pleased the old soldier, yet,
before the valet had finished the message, his features
smoothed—­he thought he had already found
the right man.

After assuring himself that the imperial messenger
had fulfilled his commission, he took a hasty leave
of him and his daughter.

His kind heart impelled him to show his chosen companion
his friendly remembrance of him, and thereby atone
for the offence which had been inflicted upon him
in his house. To Barbara’s inquiry whom
he would take with him, he hurriedly replied that
he should not decide until he joined his military
comrades in the Black Bear. As soon as this important
matter was settled he would return home, for it had
now become unnecessary to inform Wolf. The maid-servant
could be sent to summon him to the Golden Cross.
Barbara might go herself at once to Ursel and soothe
her—­anxiety about her beloved young knight
weighed heavily upon her soul.

Page 135

During this conversation? Master Adrian had gone
to her side; but as soon as Blomberg had retired,
he informed Barbara, in his master’s name, that
he should expect her after vespers in the apartments
of the Queen of Hungary. He longed to hear her
voice. The regent desired to know whether she
had any special wishes concerning the Prebrunn house.
She need not restrict herself on the score of expense;
the Prebrunn steward would be authorized to pay everything.
True, most of the furniture was supplied and the necessary
servants had been obtained, but her Majesty the Queen
advised her to take with her a maid or companion whom
she personally liked.

Barbara’s face crimsoned as she listened, and
then asked anxiously whether the Emperor Charles knew
of these arrangements.

He had no doubt of it, the man replied, for he had
heard his Majesty remark that, if the marquise’s
companion was not to become the toy of her caprices,
she must be enabled to obtain what she desired independently
of the old lady. He was anxious to make Barbara’s
life in Prebrunn a pleasant one.

The latter, with downcast eyes, thanked Master Adrian
and turned away; but he detained her with the inquiry
whether he should probably find Sir Wolf Hartschwert
at home, and received the answer that he had gone to
Syndic Hiltner’s.

The valet then hastily took his leave, because just
at that time his royal master needed him. Any
one else could summon the knight to the regent in
his place.

In the corridor of the Golden Cross he met Brother
Cassian, the body servant of the Confessor de Soto,
a middle-aged Swabian, who had formerly as a lay brother
worked as a bookbinder in the Dominican monastery at
Cologne. He was clad in a half-secular, half-priestly
garb, and was an humble, extremely devout man, whose
yielding nature had rendered him popular among the
servants at the court. His bullet-shaped head
was unusually large, and his face, with its narrow
brow and small, lustreless eyes, showed that he was
not prone to thinking. Yet he fulfilled every
order precisely according to directions, and possessed
his full share of the cunning which is often a characteristic
of narrow minds.

He willingly undertook to summon Sir Wolf Hartschwert,
whom he knew, to the presence of the Queen of Hungary.
No special haste was needful, and, as he loved good
wine and did not lack gifts from those who desired
an audience with his master, he went first to the
English Greeting, where the travelling clergy lodged
and often deigned to accost him.

Barbara had returned home with bowed head, and threw
herself into her father’s arm-chair in his workshop.
She gazed into vacancy with a sore and anxious heart,
and, as an insane violinist lures the same tone from
the instrument again and again, she constantly returned
to the same thought, “Lost! lost!—­too
late! too late!”

Barbara gave herself up to this mood for several minutes,
but at last she remembered her lover’s summons
for that evening.

Page 136

He longed to hear her voice, Master Adrian had said.

Surely, surely he himself had clothed the expression
in a totally different, a hundred times warmer form.
How bewitchingly he, the great Emperor, understood
how to flatter, and, with the memory of the charm of
his manner, the thought of the blissful hours which
she had enjoyed through his love returned to her mind.
It was in his power to bestow the highest happiness
which earth can give; after all, his love outweighed
everything that she must sacrifice for it. To
enjoy it, though but for a brief season, she ought
not to refuse to bear the hardest, most terrible things,
and, if what was now her secret became rumoured among
the people, to accept humiliation, shame, and scorn.
Let the respectable women of Ratisbon, in their pride
of virtue, maliciously cast stones at her; they could
not look down upon her, for, as the object of the most
illustrious sovereign’s love, she was raised
far above them.

Meanwhile, with a feeling of defiant self-confidence,
she was again braiding her hair. But the mental
firmness which she had regained did not last; more
than once her hand faltered while the comb was dividing
the wealth of her golden tresses. How ardently
Charles had praised their luxuriant beauty!-and to-day
he was to rejoice in it again. But why had not
even one poor word from his own hand accompanied the
summons?

Why had his messenger been only a valet? Why
had he wounded her so deeply the night before?

Why did leaden weights seem to hang upon her soul
when she attempted to soar upward?

Oh, what a state of things!

Who had given the regent, to whom nothing attracted
her, the right to dispose of her as though she were
a chattel or her captive?

Had she, with her heart and her honour, also resigned
her freedom to her lover?

If she had only possessed one, one single person to
whom she could utter her thoughts!

Then her glance fell upon the knapsack, and she remembered
Wolf. He was to set out on his journey early
the next morning; her lover expected her after vespers;
so perhaps she would not be permitted to see him again,
for she scarcely dared to hope that, after the rebuff
which he had experienced, he would seek her again.
Yet she longed once more to clasp the hand of the
man for whom she felt a sister’s affection and
yet had so deeply wounded.

Without one kind farewell word from him, the bitterest
drop of all would fall into the wormwood which already
mingled in her happiness. It seemed incomprehensible
that he who from childhood had given her his whole
heart would henceforth deny her every friendly feeling.
For her own sake, and also for his, this should not
be.

How many had sought her love! But perhaps the
time would soon come when, on account of the one who
must supply the place of all others, no one would
care for her. Then she wished at least to be sure
of the sympathy, the friendship of this good loyal
man.

Page 137

There were still many things for her to do, but to
seek Wolf she left them all, even the visit to Frau
Lerch, whom she wished to ask to devote herself exclusively
to her service in Prebrunn.

Full of anxious cares, lofty anticipations, and the
ardent desire to conciliate Wolf, she took the by
no means lengthy walk to the Hiltners. Not until
she reached the doctor’s house did it occur to
her that she had forgotten to execute her father’s
commission and relieve Ursel’s anxiety about
her darling.

How did it happen that, if any affair of her own interested
her, she always forgot what she owed to others?

Barbara was obliged to wait in the broad, lofty hall
of the syndic’s house for the maid-servant,
who announced her; and the stout man with the big
head, who had seized the knocker just before she entered,
shared her fate.

He was now leaning with bowed head against the wall,
both hands clasped under his beardless chin, and might
have been taken for a monk repeating his prayers.
The long, brown doublet fastened around his hips by
a Hemp rope, instead of a girdle, made him resemble
a Franciscan. But his thick, flaxen hair lacked
the tonsure, the rope the rosary, and he wore coarse
leather shoes on his large feet.

Barbara fancied that she had seen this strange figure
somewhere, and he, too, must have recognised her,
for he bowed when she looked at him. There was
not the slightest movement of the body except the small
eyes, which wandered restlessly around the spacious
room as if they missed something.

The inquiry what he found lacking here was already
rising to Barbara’s lips when the syndic’s
wife came toward her, preceded by her daughter Martina,
who, radiant with joy at seeing the ardently admired
singer in her own house, kissed her with fervent affection.

The mother merely extended her hand to Barbara, yet
the whole manner of the gentle, reserved woman showed
that she was a welcome guest.

Frau Sabina loved and understood music, still enjoyed
singing hymns with the members of her household, and
had done everything in her power to aid the establishment
of the Convivium musicum and foster its progress.

Interest in music had also united her to Dr. Martin
Luther, her husband’s friend, and mane a composition
of the Wittenberg ecclesiastic had first been performed
at the Hiltners.

The old faith offered so much more to charm the senses
than the new one! Therefore it seemed a special
cause for thanksgiving that singing and playing upon
the organ occupied a prominent place in the Protestant
religious service, and that Luther most warmly commended
the fostering of music to those who professed the
evangelical belief. Besides, her adopted son
Erasmus, the new Wittenberg master of arts, had devoted
himself eagerly to music, and composed several hymns
which, if Damian Feys permitted it, would be sung
in the Convivium musicum.

Frau Sabina Hiltner had often met Barbara there, and
had noticed with admiration and pleasure the great
progress which this richly gifted young creature had
made under the direction of the Netherland master.

Page 138

Other members of the Convivium, on the contrary, bore
Barbara a grudge because she remained a Catholic,
and many a mother of a daughter whom Barbara, as a
singer, had cast too far into the shade, would gladly
have thrust her out of the circle of music-loving
citizens.

Frau Sabina and Master Feys, who, like the much-envied
girl, was a professor of the old faith, interceded
for her all the more warmly.

Besides, it afforded Frau Hiltner scarcely less pleasure
to hear Barbara than it did Martina, and she could
also fix her eyes with genuine devotion upon the girl’s
wonderfully beautiful and nobly formed features.
The mother and daughter owed to this peerless singer
the best enjoyment which the Collegium afforded them,
and, when envy and just displeasure approached Frau
Sabina to accuse Barbara of insubordination, obstinacy,
pride, and forwardness, which were unseemly for one
so young, as well as exchanging coquettish glances
with the masculine members of the choir, the profoundly
respected wife of the syndic and her young daughter
warmly defended the persecuted girl.

In this her husband strongly supported her, for, when
necessary, he dealt weighty blows and upheld what
he deemed just without fear of man and with the powerful
aids of his strong intellect and the weight of the
esteem he had won by a stainless, industrious life.

Doubtless Frau Sabina also perceived something unusual
in Barbara’s nature and conduct, traits of defiance,
almost rebellion, which would have troubled her in
her Martina, who, though no beauty, was a pretty girl,
with the most winning, childlike charm; but she secretly
asked herself whether she would not accept it gratefully
if, in exchange, her girl could possess such a wonderful
gift of God; for, sharply as the eye of envy followed
Barbara’s every act, she had never given cause
to doubt her chastity, and this Frau Hiltner considered
greatly in her favour; for what tremendous temptations
must have assailed this marvellously beautiful creature,
this genuine artist, who had grown to womanhood without
a mother, and whose only counsellor and protector was
a crippled, eccentric old soldier.

As Martina opened the door of the sitting room a loud
conversation in men’s voices became audible,
and with the deep, resonant tones of the syndic Barbara
recognised the higher, less powerful ones of the man
whom she was seeking.

The kiss of the scarcely unfolded bud of girlhood,
the child of a mother whose presence in the Convivium
had often helped her to curb an impetuous impulse,
pleased Barbara, and yet awakened the painful feeling
that in accepting it without resistance she was guilty
of a deception. Besides, she had not confessed,
and it seemed as if, in feeling the young heretic’s
kiss an honour, she were adding to the burden which
had not yet been removed from her conscience.

Yet she could not overcome an emotion of rare pleasure
when Frau Sabina, after beckoning to her husband,
took her hand and led her into the reception room.
Erasmus Eckhart, the adopted son of the house, hastened
toward Barbara to greet her as an acquaintance of his
school days, flushing deeply in his surprise at her
great beauty as he did so.

Page 139

But the mistress of the house gave him no time to
renew the relations of childhood, and led her away
from him to her husband and her mother-in-law, a woman
of ninety, to whom she presented her with kind, nay,
with extremely flattering, words. Barbara lowered
her eyes in confusion, and did not see how, at her
entrance, Wolf’s face had blanched and old Frau
Hiltner had sat up in her cushioned arm-chair at the
window to look her sharply and fixedly in the eyes
with the freedom of age.

Meanwhile the man from the hall had stationed himself
beside the door in the same attitude, with his hands
clasped under his chin and his cap between his breast
and arm, and stood motionless. He did not appear
to be at ease, and gnawed his thick lower lip with
a troubled look as he occasionally cast a glance at
the strong countenance of Martin Luther, whose portrait,
the size of life, gazed at him from its gilt frame
on the opposite wall.

Barbara did not regain complete self-control until
the syndic asked his errand.

The man in the brown doublet was Brother Cassian,
the body servant of the Emperor’s confessor.
He now unclasped his hands to grasp the cap under
his arm, which he twirled awkwardly in his fingers
while saying, in a rapid, expressionless tone, as
though he were repeating a lesson, that he had come
to summon Wolf Hartschwert to the Queen of Hungary,
with whom he must set out for Brussels early the next
morning.

Barbara then remarked in a subdued tone that she had
come here for the same purpose, and also for another-to
shake hands with the playmate of her childhood, because
she probably would not see him again before his departure.

Wolf listened to this statement in surprise, and then
told the messenger that he would obey her Majesty’s
command.

“Obey the command,” Cassian repeated,
according to his servant custom. Then he was
about to retire, but Frau Sabina had filled a goblet
with wine for him, and Martina, according too an old
custom of the family, offered it to the messenger.

But, much as Cassian liked the juice of the grape,
he waved back the kindly meant gift of the mistress
of the house with a hoarse “No, no!” and
shaking his head, turned on his heel, and without a
word of thanks or farewell left the room.

“The body servant of the almoner, Pedro de Soto,”
was the reply. The bang of the closed outer door
was heard at the same moment, for Cassian had rushed
into the open air as fast as his feet would carry him.
After leaving part of the street behind him, he stopped,
and with a loud “B-r-r-r!” shook himself
like a poodle that has just come out of the water.

Into what an abominable heretic house Master Adrian
had sent him!

To despatch a good Christian to such an unclean hole!

Page 140

No images of the Virgin and the saints, no crucifix
nor anything else that elevates a human soul in the
whole dwelling, but the portrait of the anti-Christ,
the arch-heretic Luther, in the best place in the room!
However he turned his eyes away, the fat heretic face
had forced him to look at it. Meanwhile he had
felt as if the devil himself was already stretching
out his arm from the ample sleeve to seize him by the
collar.

“B-r-r-r!” he repeated, and hurried off
to Saint Leonhard’s chapel in the Golden Cross,
where he sprinkled himself eagerly with holy water,
and then sought Master Adrian. But the valet
was with the Emperor, and so he went to his master
and told him where he had unexpectedly wandered.

The latter lent a willing ear and shook his sagacious
head indignantly when he learned that, besides Sir
Wolf Hartschwert, Cassian had also met “the
singer” at the house of the syndic, the soul
of the evangelical movement in Ratisbon.

Meanwhile Barbara was taking leave of the friend of
her youth at the Hiltner house.

The others, with the exception of the deaf old dame,
had considerately left the room.

Wolf felt it gratefully, for a dark suspicion, which
Barbara’s information of her father’s
long ride as a messenger only confirmed, weighed heavily
upon his heart.

The man for whose sake the woman he loved had given
him up must be Baron Malfalconnet.

It was well known how recklessly this gay, gallant
noble trifled with women’s hearts, and he had
mentioned Barbara in his presence in a way that justified
the conjecture.

Therefore, ere Wolf clasped her hand, he told her
the suspicions which filled him with anxiety about
her.

But he was soon to discover the baselessness of this
fear.

Whatever the truthful girl so positively and solemnly
denied must be far from her thoughts, and he now clasped
her right hand in both his.

The heavy anxiety that his “queen” had
fallen into the baron’s hands as a toy had been
removed. The thought of the Emperor Charles was
as far removed from his mind as heaven from earth,
though Barbara emphasized the fact that the man whom
she loved would be sure of his respect. She also,
with deep emotion, assured him that she wished him
the best and most beautiful life, and would always
retain her friendship for him whatever Fate might
have in store for both.

The words sounded so truthful and loyal that Wolf’s
heart was moved to its inmost depths, and he now,
in his turn, assured her that he would never forget
her, and would treasure her image in his heart’s
core to the end. True, he must endure the keenest
suffering for her sake, but he also owed her the greatest
happiness life had granted him.

The eyes of both were dim, but when he began to talk
in the old pathetic way of the magic of love, which
would at last bring together those whom Heaven destined
for one another, she tore herself away, hastily begged
him to say farewell to Fran Hiltner for her, and then
went into the hall; but here Martina overtook the
departing guest, threw herself impetuously into her
arms, and whispered the question whether she would
permit her to pay her a visit at Prebrunn when she
was with her old marquise, she had so much, so very
much, to tell her.

Page 141

But the wish, of which her mother was ignorant, remained
unfulfilled, for Barbara, scarcely able to control
her voice in her embarrassment, hurriedly replied
that while with the lady in waiting she would no longer
be her own mistress, pressed a hasty kiss upon the
innocent child’s brow, released herself from
her embrace, and rushed through the door, which Wolf
was holding open for her, into the street.

The former gazed after her with a troubled heart,
and, after she was out of sight, returned to the others.
He conscientiously delivered Barbara’s farewell,
and the praise which Frau Sabina lavished upon her
pleased him as much as if nothing had come between
them. Finally he made an engagement to see Erasmus
Eckhart that evening in his lodgings, and then went
to the Queen of Hungary.

After he had left the Hiltners Frau Sabina bent down
to her mother-in-law’s ear—­though
she had lost her quickness of hearing, she had retained
her sight perfectly—­and, raising her voice,
told her the name of the young lady who had just left
them. Then she asked if she, too, did not admire
Barbara’s beauty, and what she thought of her.

The grandmother nodded, exclaiming in a low tone,
“Beautiful, beautiful—­a wonderfully
beautiful creature!” Then she gazed thoughtfully
into vacancy, and at last asked whether she had heard
correctly that Jungfrau Blomberg was also a remarkable
singer.

Her daughter-in-law eagerly nodded assent to this
question.

The aged woman silently bowed her head, but quickly
raised it again, and there was a faint tinge of regret
in her voice as she began: “Too much, certainly
too much. Such marvels are rare. But one
thing or the other. For women of her stamp there
are only two conditions, and no other—­rapturous
happiness and utter misery. She will be content
with no average. It does not suit such natures.”

Here she paused abruptly, for Martina entered the
room, and with affectionate solicitude said to her
granddaughter: “Young Trainer was here
just now. Has anything happened between you?
I see by your eyes that you have been weeping.”

ETEXT editor’sbookmarks:

Cunning which is often
a characteristic of narrow minds
Pride in charms which
we do not possess (vanity)

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 5.

CHAPTER XXI.

The Emperor Charles loved his sister Mary, and he
now desired to show her how dear she was to his heart.
She had been obliging to him, and he had in mind the
execution of a great enterprise which she had hitherto
zealously opposed, yet for which he needed her co-operation.

It satisfied him to know that the father of his love
would be absent from Ratisbon for the present.
He did not care who accompanied him.

When the regent reproached him for having taken Sir
Wolf Hartschwert from her without a word of consultation,
although she was unwilling to spare him, he had instantly
placed Wolf at her disposal again.

Page 142

The simplest and cheapest plan would have been to
let Blomberg pursue his journey alone; but the monarch
feared that the despatch might not be quickly delivered
if anything happened to the old man on the way, and
he had said before witnesses that he would not allow
him to go without companionship.

He scarcely thought of Barbara’s filial feeling.
She loved him, and the place which she gave to any
one else in her heart could and must therefore be
extremely small.

How powerfully the passionate love for this girl had
seized him he dared not confess to himself. But
he rejoiced in the late love which rejuvenated him
and filled him with a joy in existence whose fresh
blossoming would have seemed impossible a few days
before.

How superb a creature he had found in this German
city, from which, since its change of religion, he
had withdrawn his former favour! In his youth
his heart had throbbed ardently for many a fair woman,
but she surpassed in beauty, in swift intelligence,
in fervour, in artistic ability, and, above all, in
sincere, unfeigned devotion every one whom his faithful
memory recalled.

He would hold fast to the loved one who bestowed this
happiness and fresh vigour of youth. To make
warm the nest which was to receive his dear nightingale
he had conquered the economy which was beginning to
degenerate into avarice, and also intended to accomplish
other sacrifices in order to procure her the position
which she deserved.

He no longer knew that he had wounded her deeply the
night before. He was in the habit of casting
aside whatever displeased him unless it appeared advantageous
to impose restraint upon himself; and who would ever
have dared to resist the expression of his indignation?
Had Barbara obeyed her hasty temper and returned him
a sharp answer, he certainly would not have forgotten
it. The bare thought of her dispelled melancholy
thoughts from his mind; the hope of soon seeing and
hearing her again rendered him friendly and yielding
to those about him. The trivial sin which this
sweet love secret contained had been pardoned in the
case of the man bound by no older obligation, after
a slight penance, and now for the first time he fully
enjoyed the wealth of the unexpected new happiness.
It must also be acceptable to Heaven, for this was
distinctly shown by the more and more favourable turn
of politics, and he held the return gift.

That it was the right one was proved by the nature
of the gratifying news brought by the very last despatches.
They urged him directly toward the war which hitherto,
from the most serious motives, he had avoided, and,
as his royal sister correctly saw, would destroy a
slowly matured, earnest purpose; for it forced him
to renounce the hope of effecting at Trent a reformation
of the Church according to his own ideas, and a restoration
of the unity of religion in a peaceful manner by yielding
on one side and reasonable concessions on the other.

Page 143

He had long since perceived that many things in the
old form of religion needed reformation. If war
was declared, he would be compelled to resign the
hope that these would be undertaken by Rome, and the
opposition, the defiance, the bold rebellion of the
Protestant princes destroyed every hope of propitiation
on their part. They were forcing him to draw the
sword, and he might venture to do so at this time,
for he need now feel no fear of serious opposition
from any of the great powers around him. Maurice
of Saxony, too, was on the point of withdrawing from
the Smalkalds and becoming his ally; so, with the
assistance of Heaven, he might hope to win the victory
for the cause of the Church, and with it also that
of the crown.

With regard to the probability of this war, he had
much to expect from the activity of his sister in
the Netherlands, and though she now advocated peace,
in the twelfth hour, which must soon strike, he could
rely upon her. Yet she was a woman, and it was
necessary to bind her to him by every tie of the heart
and intellect.

He loved Barbara as warmly as he was capable of loving;
but had Mary that evening required his separation
from the singer as the price of her assistance in
promoting his plans, the desire of the heart would
perhaps have yielded to the wishes of the statesman.

But the regent did not impose this choice; she did
not grudge him his late happiness, and gratefully
appreciated the transformation which Barbara’s
rare gifts had wrought.

The affectionate sister’s heart wished that
the bond which produced so favourable a result might
be of the longest possible duration, and she had therefore
personally attended to the furnishing of the Prebrunn
house, and made all sorts of arrangements to render
Barbara’s life with the marquise, not only endurable,
but pleasant.

The Emperor had allowed a considerable sum for this
purpose, but she did not trouble herself about the
amount allotted. If she exceeded it, Charles
must undertake the payment, whether he desired it or
not.

Her vivid imagination had showed her how she, in the
Emperor’s place, would treat the object of his
love, and she acted accordingly, without questioning
him or the girl for whom her arrangements were made.

Nothing was too expensive for the favoured being who
dispelled the Emperor’s melancholy, and she
had proved how much can be accomplished in a brief
space where there is good will on all sides.

By her orders entirely separate suites of apartments
had been prepared for Barbara and the marquise.
Quijada had selected four of her own saddle horses
for the stable of the little castle, and supplied it
with the necessary servants. Her steward had
been commissioned to provide the servants wanted in
the kitchen, and one of her Netherland officials had
received orders to manage the household of the marquise
and her companion, and in doing so to anticipate Barbara’s
wishes in the most attentive manner. One of her

Page 144

best maids, the worthy and skilful Frau Lamperi, though
she was reluctant to part with her, had been sent to
Prebrunn to serve Barbara as garde-robiere. The
advice that the Emperor’s love should take her
own waiting maid also came from her. She knew
the value, amid new circumstances, of a person long
known and trusted. The idea that Barbara would
take her own maid with her rested, it is true, on
the supposition that so well-dressed a young lady,
who belonged to an ancient family, must as surely
possess such a person as eyes and hands.

Barbara had just induced Frau Lerch to accompany her
to Prebrunn. The old woman’s opposition
had only been intended to extort more favourable terms.
She knew nothing of the regent’s arrangements.

Queen Mary was grateful to Charles for so readily
restoring the useful Sir Wolf Hartschwert, and when
the latter presented himself he was received even
more graciously than usual.

She had some work ready for him. A letter in
relation to the betrothal of her nieces, the daughters
of King Ferdinand, was to be sent to the Imperial
Councillor Schonberg at Vienna. It must be written
in German, because the receiver understood no other
language.

After she had told the knight the purpose of the letter,
she left him; the vesper service summoned her, and
afterward Barbara detained her as she sang to the
Emperor, alone and accompanied by Appenzelder’s
boy choir, several songs, and in a manner so thoroughly
artistic that the Queen lingered not only in obedience
to her brother’s wish, but from pleasure in
the magnificent music, until the end of the concert.

Just as Wolf, seated in the writing room, which was
always at his disposal, finished the letter, the major-domo,
Don Luis Quijada, sought him.

He had already intimated several times that he had
something in view for him which promised to give Wolf’s
life, in his opinion, a new and favourable turn.
Now he made his proposal.

The duties imposed upon him by the service compelled
him to live apart from his beloved, young, and beautiful
wife, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, who had remained at
his castle Villagarcia in Spain. She possessed
but one true comforter in her solitude—­music.
But the person who had hitherto instructed her—­the
family chaplain—­was dead. So far as
his ability and his taste were concerned, it would
have been easy to replace him, but Quijada sought
in his successor qualities which rarely adorned a single
individual, but which he expected to find united in
the knight.

In the first place, the person he desired must be,
like the chaplain, of noble birth; for to see his
wife closely associated with a man of inferior station
was objectionable to the Spanish grandee, who was
perhaps the most popular of all the officers in the
army, not only on account of his valour in the field,
but also for the kindly good will and absolute justice
which he bestowed upon even the humblest soldier.

Page 145

That the chaplain’s successor must be a good
artist, thoroughly familiar with Netherland and Italian
music, was a matter of course. But Don Luis also
demanded from Dona Magdalena’s new teacher and
household companion graceful manners, a modest disposition,
and, above all things, a character on which he could
absolutely rely. Not that he would have cherished
any fears of the fidelity of the wife whom he honoured
as the purest and noblest of her sex, and of whom
he spoke to the knight with reverence and love; he
desired only to guard her from any occurrence that
might offend her.

Wolf listened in surprise. He had firmly resolved
that on no account would he stay in Ratisbon.
What could he find save fresh anxiety and never-ending
anguish of the heart if he remained near Barbara, who
disdained his love?

He possessed little ambition. It was only for
the sake of the woman he loved that he had recently
made more active exertions, but with his excellent
acquirements and the fair prospects which were open
to him at the court, it seemed, even to his modest
mind, too humble a fate to bury himself in a Spanish
castle in order to while away with music the lonely
hours of a noblewoman, no matter how high her rank,
how beautiful and estimable she might be, or how gladly
he would render her admirable husband a favour.

Quijada had said this to himself, and perceived plainly
enough what was passing in the young knight’s
thoughts.

So he frankly confessed that he was well aware how
few temptations his invitation offered a man endowed
with Wolf’s rare advantages, but he came by
no means with empty hands—­and he now informed
the listening musician what he could offer him.

This certainly gave his proposal a different aspect.

The aristocratic Quijada family—­and as
its head he himself—­had in its gift a rich
living, which annually yielded thousands of ducats,
in the great capital of Valladolid. Many a son
of a distinguished race sought it, but he wished to
bestow it upon Wolf. It would insure him more
than a comfortable support, permit him to marry the
woman of his choice, and, if he remained several years
in Villagarcia, afford him the possibility of accumulating
a neat little property, as he would live in Quijada’s
castle as a welcome guest and scarcely ever be obliged
to open his purse strings. Besides, music was
cultivated in Valladolid, and if Don Luis introduced
him to the clergy there, it might easily happen that
they would avail themselves of his great knowledge
and fine ability and intrust to him the amendment
and perhaps, finally, the direction of the church
music.

As Dona Magdalena often spent several months with
her brother, the Marquis Rodrigo de la Mota, Wolf
could from time to time be permitted to visit the
Netherlands or Italy to participate in the more active
musical life of these countries.

Wolf listened to this explanation with increasing
attention.

Page 146

The narrow path which buried itself in the sand was
becoming a thoroughfare leading upward. He was
glad that he had withheld his refusal; but this matter
was so important that the prudent young man, after
warmly thanking Don Luis for his good opinion, requested
some time for consideration.

True, Quijada could assure him that, for the sake
of his wife, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, whom from childhood
she had honoured with her special favour, the regent
would place no obstacle in the way of his retirement
from her service. But Wolf begged him to have
patience with him. He was not a man to make swift
decisions, and nowhere could he reflect better than
in the saddle during a long ride. He would inform
him of his determination by the first messenger despatched
from Brussels to the Emperor. Even now he could
assure him that this generous offer seemed very tempting,
since solitude always had far more charm for him than
the noisy bustle of the court.

Quijada willingly granted the requested delay, and,
before bidding him farewell, Wolf availed himself
of the opportunity to deliver into his hands the papers
collected by his adopted father, which he had on his
person. They contained the proof that he was descended
from the legal marriage of a knight and a baroness;
and Don Luis willingly undertook to have them confirmed
by the Emperor, and his patent renewed in a way which,
if he accepted his proposal, might also be useful to
him in Spain.

So Wolf took leave of the major-domo with the conviction
that he possessed a true friend in this distinguished
man. If the regent did not arbitrarily detain
him, he would show himself in Villagarcia to be worthy
of his confidence.

On the stairs he met the Emperor’s confessor,
Don Pedro de Soto. Wolf bowed reverently before
the dignified figure of the distinguished Dominican,
and the latter, as he recognised him, paused to request
curtly that he would give him a few minutes the following
day.

“If I can be of any service to your Reverence,”
replied Wolf, taking the prelate’s delicate
hand to kiss it; but the almoner, with visible coldness,
withdrew it, repellently interrupting him: “First,
Sir Knight, I must ask you for an explanation.
Where the plague is raging in every street, we ought
to guard our own houses carefully against it.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Wolf, unsuspiciously.
“But I shall set out early to-morrow morning
with her Majesty.”

“Then,” replied the Dominican after a
brief hesitation, “then a word with you now.”

He continued his way to the second story, and Wolf,
with an anxious mind, followed him into a waiting
room, now empty, near the staircase.

The deep seriousness in the keen eyes of the learned
confessor, which could look gentle, indulgent, and
sometimes even merry, revealed that he desired to
discuss some matter of importance; but the very first
question which the priest addressed to him restored
the young man’s composure.

Page 147

The confessor merely desired to know what took him
to the house of the man who must be known to him as
the soul of the evangelical innovations in his native
city, and the friend of Martin Luther.

Wolf now quietly informed him what offer Dr. Hiltner,
as syndic of Ratisbon, had made him in the name of
the Council.

“And you?” asked the confessor anxiously.

“I declined it most positively,” replied
Wolf, “although it would have suited my taste
to stand at the head of the musical life in my native
city.”

“Because you prefer to remain in the service
of her Majesty Queen Mary?” asked De Soto.

“No, your Eminence. Probably I shall soon
leave the position near her person. I rather
feared that, as a good Catholic, I would find it difficult
to do my duty in the service of an evangelical employer.”

“There is something in that. But what led
the singer—­you know whom I mean—­to
the same house?”

Wolf could not restrain a slight smile, and he answered
eagerly: “The young lady and I grew up
together under the same roof, your Eminence, and she
came for no other purpose than to bid me farewell.
A lamb that clings more firmly to the shepherd, and
more strongly abhors heresy, could scarcely be found
in our Redeemer’s flock.”

“A lamb!” exclaimed the almoner with a
slight touch of scorn. “What are we to
think of the foe of heresy who exchanges tender kisses
with the wife of the most energetic leader of Protestantism?”

“By your permission, your Eminence,” Wolf
asserted, “only the daughter offered her her
lips. She and her mother made the singer’s
acquaintance at the musical exercises established
here by the Council. Music is the only bond between
them.”—­“Yet there is a bond,”
cried De Soto suspiciously. “If you see
her again before your departure, advise her, in my
name, to sever it. She found a friendly welcome
and much kindness in that house, and here at least—­tell
her so—­only one faith exists. A prosperous
journey, Sir Knight.”

The delay caused by this conversation induced Wolf
to quicken his pace. It had grown late, and Erasmus
Eckhart had surely been waiting some time for his
school friend in the old precentor’s house.

This was really the case, but the Wittenberg theologian,
whose course of study had ended only a fortnight before,
and who, with his long, brown locks and bright blue
eyes, still looked like a gay young student, had had
no reason to lament the delay.

He was first received by Ursel, who had left her bed
and was moving slowly about the room, and how much
the old woman had had to tell her young fellow-believer
from Wittenberg about Martin Luther, who was now no
longer living, and Professor Melanchthon; but Erasmus
Eckhart liked to talk with her, for as a schoolmate
and intimate friend of Wolf he had paid innumerable
visits to the house, and received in winter an apple,
in summer a handful of cherries, from her.

Page 148

The young man was still less disposed to be vexed
with Wolf for his delay when Barbara appeared in Ursel’s
room. Erasmus had played with her, too, when
he was a boy, and they shared a treasure of memories
of the fairest portion of life.

When Wolf at last returned and Barbara gave him her
hand, Erasmus envied him the affectionate confidence
with which it was done. She was charged with
the warmest messages from her father to the knight,
and conscientiously delivered them. The old gentleman’s
companion had advised starting that evening, because
experience taught that, on a long ride, it was better
for man and beast to spend the night outside the city.

They were to put up at the excellent tavern in Winzer,
an hour’s journey from Ratisbon, and continue
the ride from that point.

Wolf knew that many couriers did the same thing, in
order to avoid delay at the gate, and only asked whom
her father had chosen for a companion.

“A young nobleman who was here as a recruiting
officer,” replied Barbara curtly.

She had not heard until the last moment whom her father
had selected, and had only seen Pyramus Kogel again
while the captain’s groom was buckling his knapsack
upon the saddle. He had ridden to the house, and
while she gazed past him, as though an invisible cap
concealed him from her eyes, he asked whether she
had no wish concerning her father at heart.

“That some one else was to accompany him,”
came her sharp reply.

Then, before the captain put his foot into the stirrup,
she threw her arms around the old man’s neck,
kissed him tenderly, and uttered loving wishes for
him to take with him on his way.

Her father, deeply moved, at last swung himself into
the saddle, commending her to the protection of the
gracious Virgin. It was not wholly easy for him
to part with her, but the prospect of riding out into
the world with a full purse, highly honoured by his
imperial master, gratified the old adventure-loving
heart so much that he could feel no genuine sympathy.
Too honest to feign an emotion which he did not experience,
he behaved accordingly; and, besides, he was sure of
leaving his child in the best care as in her earlier
years, when, glad to leave the dull city, business,
and his arrogant, never-satisfied wife behind, he
had gone with a light heart to war.

While pressing the horse’s flanks between his
legs and forcing the spirited animal, which went round
and round with him in a circle, to obedience, he waved
his new travelling hat; but Barbara, meanwhile, was
thinking that he could only leave her with his mind
thus free from care because she was deceiving him,
and, as her eyes rested on her father’s wounded
limb projecting stiffly into the air, bitter grief
overwhelmed her.

How often the old wounds caused him pain! Other
little infirmities, too, tortured him. Who would
bind them up on the journey? who would give him the
medicine which afforded relief?

Page 149

Then pity affected her more deeply than ever before,
and it was with difficulty that she forced back the
rising tears. Her father might perhaps have noticed
them, for one groom carried a torch, and the one-eyed
maid’s lantern was shining directly into her
face.

But while she was struggling not to weep aloud, emotion
and anxiety for the old man who, through her fault,
would be exposed to so much danger, extorted the cry:
“Take care of him, Herr Pyramus! I will
be grateful to you.”

“That shall be a promise, lovely, ungracious
maiden,” the recruiting officer quickly answered.
But the old man was already waving his hat again,
his horse dashed upon the Haidplatz at a gallop, and
his companion, with gallant bearing, followed.

Barbara had then gone back into the house, and the
maid-servant lighted her upstairs.

It had become perfectly dark in her rooms, and the
solitude and silence there oppressed her like a hundredweight
burden. Besides, terrible thoughts had assailed
her, showing her herself in want and shame, despised,
disdained, begging for a morsel of bread, and her father
under his fallen horse, on his lonely, couch of pain,
in his coffin.

Then her stay in her lonely rooms seemed unendurable.
She would have lost her reason ere Quijada came at
midnight to conduct her for a short time to the Golden
Cross. She could not remain long with her lover,
because the servants were obliged to be up early in
the morning on account of the regent’s departure.

With Ursel she would be protected from the terrors
of solitude, for, besides the old woman’s voice,
a man’s tones also reached her through the open
window. It was probably the companion of her childhood.
In his society she would most speedily regain her
lost peace of mind.

In his place she had at first found only Erasmus Eckhart.

The strong, bold boy had become a fine-looking man.

A certain gravity of demeanour had early taken possession
of him, and while his close-shut lips showed his ability
to cling tenaciously to a resolution, his bright eyes
sparkled with the glow of enthusiasm.

Barbara could believe in this young man’s capacity
for earnest, lofty aspiration, and for that very reason
it had aroused special displeasure in her mind when
he gaily recalled the foolish pranks, far better suited
to a boy, into which as a child she had often allowed
herself to be hurried.

She felt as if, in doing so, he was showing her a
lack of respect which he would scarcely have ventured
toward a young lady whom he esteemed, and the petted
singer, whom no less a personage than the Emperor Charles
deemed worthy of his love, was unwilling to tolerate
such levity from so young a man.

She made no claim to reverence, but she expected admiration
and the recognition of being an unusual person, who
was great in her own way.

For the sake of the monarch who raised her to his
side, she owed it to herself to show, even in her
outward bearing, that she did not stand too far below
him in aristocratic dignity.

Page 150

She succeeded in this admirably during the conversation
on music and singing which she carried on with Erasmus.

When she at last desired to return home, Wolf accompanied
her up the stairs, informed her of his conversation
with the confessor, and at the same time warned her
against incautious visits to the Hiltners so long as
the Emperor held his court in Ratisbon.

To have fallen under suspicion of heresy would have
been the last thing Barbara expected, and she called
it foolish, nay, ridiculous. But, ere she clasped
Wolf’s hand in farewell, she promised to show
the almoner at the first opportunity upon how false
a trail he had come.

CHAPTER XXII.

When Wolf went back to Erasmus the latter assured
his friend that he had met no maiden in Ratisbon who,
to rare gifts, united the dignity which he had hitherto
admired only in the ladies whom he had met at the court
of the Elector of Saxony. His sparkling eyes
flashed more brightly as he spoke, and, like a blushing
girl, he confessed to his friend that Jungfrau Blomberg’s
promise to sing one of his own compositions to him
made him a happy man.

Barbara’s conduct had made the repressed fire
of love blaze up anew in Wolf.

Now, for the first time, the woman he loved fully
and entirely fulfilled the ideal which he had formed
of the “queen” of his heart.

Was it the sad separation from him, the taking leave
of her father, or her new love, which was bestowed
on a man whom he also esteemed, that impressed upon
her nature the stamp of a nobility which beseemed her
as well as it suited her aristocratic beauty?

Never had it appeared to him so utterly impossible
that he could yield her to another without resistance.
Perhaps the man chosen by such a jewel was more worthy
than he, but no one’s love could surpass his
in strength and fervour. She had tested it, and
he need no longer call himself an insignificant suitor;
for, if he gained possession of the living which Don
Luis had ready for him, if he obtained a high position
in Valladolid—­But his friend gave him no
time to pursue such thoughts further, for, while Barbara
shortly after midnight stole down the stairs like
a criminal, and Quijada conducted her to her imperial
lover, Erasmus began to press him with demands which
he was obliged to reject.

The Wittenberg master of arts, ever since his first
meeting with his friend, had been on the point of
asking the question how he, who had obtained in the
school of poets an insight into the pure word of God,
could prevail upon himself to continue to wear the
chains of Rome and remain a Catholic.

Wolf had expected this query, and, while he filled
his companion’s goblet with the good Wurzburg
wine which Ursula provided, he begged him not to bring
religion into their conversation.

The young Wittenberg theologian, however, had come
for the express purpose of discussing it with his
friend.

Page 151

Religion, he asserted in the fervid manner characteristic
of him, was in these times the axis around which turned
the inner life of the world and every individual.
He himself had resolved to live for the object for
whose sake it was worth while to die. He knew
the great perils which would be associated with it
for one of his warlike temperament, but he had become,
by the divine summons, an evangelical theologian, a
combatant for the liberation of the slaves sighing
under the tyranny of Rome. A serious conversation
with a friend who was a German and resisted yielding
to a movement of the spirit which was kindling the
inmost depths of the German nature, thoughts, and
feelings, and was destined to heal the woes of the
German nation and preserve it from the basest abuse,
would be to him inconceivable.

Wolf interrupted this avowal with the assurance that
he must nevertheless decline a religious discussion
with him, for the weapons they would use were too
different. Erasmus, as a theologian, was deeply
versed in the Protestant faith, while he professed
Catholicism merely as a consequence of his birth and
with a layman’s understanding and knowledge.
Yet he would not shun the conflict if his hands were
not bound by the most sacred of oaths. Then he
turned to the past, and while he himself, as it were,
lived through for the second time the most affecting
moment in his existence, he transported his friend
to his dead mother’s sick-bed.

In vivid language he described how the devout widow
and nun implored her son to resist like a rock in
the sea the assault of the new heretical ideas, that
the thousands of prayers which she had uttered for
him, for his soul, and his father’s, might not
be vain.

Then Wolf confessed that just at that time, as a pupil
in the school of poets, he had come under the influence
of the scholar Naevius, whose evangelical views Erasmus
knew, and related how difficult it had been for him
to take the oath which, nevertheless, now that he had
once sworn it, he would keep, even though life and
his own intelligence would not have taught him to
prefer the old faith to every new doctrine, whether
it emanated from Luther, from Calvin, or from Zwingli.

For a short time Erasmus found no answer to this statement,
and Wolf’s old nurse, who herself clung to the
Protestants from complete conviction, and had listened
attentively to his words, urged her young co-religionist,
by all sorts of signs, to respect his friend’s
decision.

The confession of his schoolmate had not been entirely
without effect upon the young theologian. The
name of “mother” also filled him with
reverence.

True, his birth had cost his own mother her life,
but he had long possessed a distinct idea of her nature
and being, and had given her precisely the same position
which, in the early days of his school life, the Virgin
Mary had occupied.

To induce another to break a vow made to his mother
would have been sinful. But a brief reflection
changed his mind.

Page 152

Were there not circumstances in which the Bible itself
commanded a man to leave father and mother? Had
not Jesus Christ made the surrender of every old relation
and the following after him the duty of those who were
to become his disciples? What was the meaning
of the words the Saviour had uttered to his august
mother, “Woman, what have I to do with thee?”
except it was commanded to turn even from the mother
when religion was at stake?

Many another passage of Scripture had strengthened
the courage of the young Bible student when at last,
with a look of intelligence, he pledged Wolf, and
remarking, “How could I venture the attempt to
lead you to break so sacred an oath?” instantly
brought forward every plea that a son who, in religious
matters, followed a different path from his mother
could allege in his justification.

A short time before, in Brussels, Wolf had seen a
superior of the new Society of Jesus, whose members
were now appearing everywhere as defenders of the
violently assailed papacy, seek to win back to Catholicism
the son of evangelical parents with the very same arguments.
He told his friend this, and also expressed the belief
that the Jesuit, too, had spoken in good faith.

Erasmus shrugged his shoulders, saying “Doubtless
there are many mansions in our Father’s house,
but who will blame us if we left the dilapidated old
one, where our liberty was restricted and our consciences
were burdened, and preferred the new one, in which
man is subject to no other mortal, but only to the
plain words of the Bible and to the judge in his own
breast? If we prefer this mansion, which stands
open to every one whose heart the old one oppresses,
to the ruinous one of former days——­”

“Yet,” interrupted Wolf, “you must
say to yourselves that you leave behind in the old
one much which the new one lacks, no matter with how
many good things you may equip it. The history
of our religion and its development does not belong
to your new home—­only to the old one.”

“We stand upon it as every newer thing rests
on the older,” replied Erasmus eagerly.
“What we cast aside and refuse to take into the
new home with us is not the holy faith, but merely
its deformity, abasement, and falsification.”

“Call it so,” replied Wolf calmly.
“I have heard others name and interpret differently
what you probably have in mind while using these harsh
epithets. But is it not the old house, and that
alone, in which the martyrs shed their blood for Christianity?
Where did it fulfil its lofty task of saturating the
heart of mankind with love, softening the customs
of rude pagans, clearing away forests, transforming
barren wastes into cultivated fields, planting the
cross on chapels and churches, summoning men with
the consecrated voice of the bell to the sermon which
proclaims love and peace? Where did it open the
doors of the school which prepares the intellect to
satisfy its true destiny, and first qualifies man to
become the image of God? By the old mansion this
country, covered with marshes, moors; and impenetrable
forests, was rendered what it now is; from it proceeded
that fostering of science and the arts of which as
yet I have seen little in your circles.”

Page 153

“Give us time,” cried the theologian,
“and perhaps in our home their flowering will
attain an unsurpassed richness of development.
With what loose bonds the humanists are still united
to you!”

“And the finest intellect of all, the great
scholar whose name you bear, though he deemed many
things in our old home deserving of improvement, remained
with us until his death. Jesus Christ is one,
and so his Church must also remain. The only
question is, What the Saviour still is to you Protestants,
what he is to you, my friend?”

“Before how many saints, and many another whom
your Church desires to honour, do you bow the knee?”
Erasmus fervidly answered; “but we do so only
to the august Trinity. And do you wish to know
what Jesus Christ, the Son, is to me? All, and
more than all, is the answer; I live and breathe in
my Saviour Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day,
and throughout eternity.”

The young theologian raised his sparkling eyes heavenward
as he spoke, and continued: “Our doctrine
is founded on him, his word, his love alone; and who
among the enthusiastic heralds of Christianity in ancient
times grasped faith in him with warmer sincerity than
the very Martin Luther whom you would have led to
the stake had not the Emperor Charles’s plighted
word been dearer to him than the approval of Rome?
Oh, my friend, our young faith can also show its martyrs.
Think of the Bohemian John Huss and the true Christians
who, in the Netherlands and Spain, were burned at
the stake and bled upon the scaffold because they read
the Bible, the Word of God and their Saviour, and
would rather die than deny it. If it should come
to the worst, thousands here would also be ready to
ascend the funeral pyre, and I at their head.
If war is declared now, the Emperor Charles will gain
the victory; and if he does not wish to withdraw in
earnest from Romish influences, who can tell what will
then await us Protestants? But I am not anxious
about what may come. We German citizens, who
are accustomed to guide our own destinies and maintain
the system of government we arranged for ourselves,
who built by our own strength our solid, comfortable,
gable-roofed houses and noble, towering cathedrals,
will also independently maintain the life of our minds
and our souls. Rome, with her legions of priests,
claimed the right not only to interfere in our civil
life, but also to intrude into our houses, our married
lives, and our nurseries. What could she not decide
for the individual by virtue of the power she arrogates
to bind and to loose, to forgive sins, and to open
or to close the door of heaven for the dying?
What she has done with the Church’s gifts of
grace we know.

Page 154

“There is a deep, beautiful meaning underlying
this idea. But it has degenerated into a base
traffic in indulgences. We have sincere natures.
For a long time we believed that salvation is gained
by works—­gifts to the Church, fasts, scourgings,
seclusion from the world, self-confinement in a cell—­and
our wealth went to Rome. Rarely do we look vainly
in the most beautiful sites on mountain or by river
for a monastery! But at last the sound sense
of Germany rebelled, and when Luther saw in Rome poor
sufferers from gout and cripples ascending the stairs
of the Lateran on their knees, a voice within cried
out to him the great ‘sola fide’ on which
our faith is founded. On it alone, on devotion
to Jesus Christ, depends our salvation.”

“Then,” asked Wolf, “you boldly
deny any saving power to good works?”

“Yes,” was the firm reply, “so far
as they do not proceed from faith.”

“As if the Church did not impose the same demand!”
replied Wolf in a more animated tone. “True,
base wrong has been done in regard to the sale of
indulgences, but at the Council of Trent opposition
will be made to it. No estimable priest holds
the belief that money can atone for a sin or win the
mercy of Heaven. With us also sincere repentance
or devout faith must accompany the gift, the fasting,
and whatever else the believer imposes upon himself
here below. Man is so constituted that the only
things which make a deep impression are those that
the body also feels. The teacher’s blow
has a greater effect than his words, a gift produces
more willingness than an entreaty, and the tendency
toward asceticism and penance is genuinely Christian,
and belongs to many a people of a different faith.
Your Erasmus said that his heart was Catholic, but
his stomach desired to be Protestant. You have
an easier task than we.”

“On the contrary,” the young theologian
burst forth. “It is mere child’s
play for you to obtain forgiveness by acts which really
do not cut deeply into the flesh; but if one of us
errs, how hard must be the conflict in his own breast
ere he attains the conviction that his guilt is expiated
by deep repentance and better deeds!”

“I can answer for that,” here interposed
old Ursel, who from her arm-chair had listened to
the conversation between the two with intense interest.

“Good heavens! One went forth from the
confessional as pure as a white dove after absolution
had been received and the penance performed; but now
that I belong to the Protestants, it is hard to reach
a perfect understanding with the dear Saviour and
one’s self.”

“And ought that to redound to the discredit
of my faith?” asked Wolf. “So far
as I have learned to know men, the majority, at least,
will not hasten to attain our Ursel’s complete
understanding with one’s self. I should
even fear that there are many among you who no longer
feel a desire to heed little sins and their forgiveness——­”

Here Ursel again interrupted him with an exclamation
of dissent, accompanied by a gesture of denial from
her thin old hand; but Wolf glanced at the clock which
the precentor had received as a testimonial of affection
from the members of the cathedral choir, which he had
led for years.

Page 155

It was already half past one, and for the sake of
Ursel, who was still obliged to take care of herself,
he urged departure, adding gaily that he had not the
ability to “defend himself against two.”
Erasmus, too, was surprised to find it so late, and,
after shaking hands with the old woman and promising
to visit her soon again, seized his cap. Wolf
accompanied him.

The May night was sultry, and the air in the low room
had been hot and oppressive.

He would gladly have dropped the useless discussion,
but Erasmus’s heart was set upon winning his
schoolmate to the doctrine which he believed with
his whole soul. He toiled with the utmost zeal,
but during their nocturnal walk also he failed to
convince his opponent. Both were true to their
religion. Erasmus saw in his faith the return
to the pure teachings of Christ and the liberation
of the human soul from ancient fetters; Wolf, who
had had them pointed out to him at school by a Protestant
teacher, by no means denied the abuses that had crept
into his, but he clung with warm love to Holy Church,
which offered his soul an abundance of what it needed.

His art certainly also owed to her its best development—­from
the inexhaustible spring of faith which is formed
from thousands of rivulets and tributaries in the
holy domain of the Catholic Church, and in it alone,
the most sublime of all material flowed to the musician,
and not to him only, but to the artist, the architect,
and the sculptor. The fullest stream—­he
was well aware of it—­came from ancient pagan
times, but from whatever sources the spring was fed,
the Church had understood how to assimilate, preserve,
and sanctify it.

Erasmus listened silently while Wolf eagerly made
these statements; but when the latter closed with
the declaration that the evangelical faith would never
attain the same power of elevating hearts, he interrupted
the knight with the exclamation, “We shall have
to wait for that!”

Luther, he went on, had given the most powerful encouragement
to music, and the German Protestant composers even
now were not so very far behind the Netherland ones.
The Catholic Church could no longer claim the great
Albrecht Durer, and, if art ceased to create images
of the saints, with which the childish minds of the
common people practised idolatry, so much the better.
The Infinite and Eternal was no subject for the artist.
The humanization of God only belittled his infinite
and illimitable nature. Earthly life offered
art material enough. Man himself would be the
worthiest model for imitation, and perhaps no earlier
epoch had created handsomer likenesses of men and
women than would now be produced by evangelical artists.

To their own surprise, during this conversation they
had reached the Hiltner house, and Erasmus invited
his friend to come to his room and over a glass of
wine answer him, as he had had the last word.
But Wolf had already drunk at his own home more of
the fiery Wurzburg from the precentor’s cellar
than usual. Besides, much as he still had to say
in reply to Erasmus, the sensible young man deemed
it advisable to avoid the syndic’s house for
the present. The confessor’s suspicion had
been aroused, and De Soto was a Dominican, who certainly
did not stand far from the Holy Inquisition.

Page 156

Therefore while Erasmus, with burning head and great
excitement, was still urging his friend to come in,
Wolf unexpectedly bade him a hasty and resolute farewell.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Wolf left the Hiltner house behind him with the feeling
that he had upheld the cause of his Church against
the learned opponent to the best of his ability, and
had not been defeated. Yet he was not entirely
satisfied. In former years he had read the Hutten
dialogues, and, though he disapproved of their assaults
upon the Holy Father in Rome, he had warmly sympathized
with the fiery knight’s love for his native land.

Far as, at the court of Charles, the German ranked
below the Netherlander, the Spaniard, and the Italian,
Wolf was proud of being a German, and it vexed him
that he had not at least made the attempt to repel
the theologian’s charge that the Catholic, to
whom the authority of Rome was the highest, would
be inferior to the Protestant in patriotism.

But he would have succeeded no better in convincing
Erasmus than the learned theologians who, at the Emperor’s
instance, had held an earnest religious discussion
in Ratisbon a short time before, had succeeded in
arriving at even a remote understanding.

As he reached the Haidplatz new questions of closer
interest were casting these of supreme importance
into the shade.

He was to enter his home directly, and then the woman
whom he loved would rest above him, and alone, unwatched,
and unguarded, perhaps dream of another.

Who was the man for whose sake she withdrew from him
the heart to whose possession he had the best and
at any rate the oldest right?

Certainly not Baron Malfalconnet.

Neither could he believe it to be Peter Schlumperger
or young Crafft.

Yet perhaps the fortunate man belonged to the court.
If that was the case, how easy would the game now
be made for him with the girl, who was guarded by
no faithful eye!

His heart throbbed faster as he entered Red Cock Street.

The moon was still in the cloudless, starry sky, shining
with her calm, silver radiance upon one side of the
street. Barbara’s bow-window was touched
by it, and—­what did it mean?—­a
small lamp must still be burning in her room, for
the window was illuminated, though but dimly.
Perhaps she had kept the light because she felt timid
in her lonely chamber. Now Wolf crossed obliquely
toward his house.

Just at that moment he saw the tall figure of a man.

What was he doing there at this hour? Was it
a thief or a burglar? There was no lack of evil-disposed
folk in this time of want.

Wolf still wore his court costume, and the short dress
sword which belonged to it hung in its sheath.

His heart beat quicker as he loosed the blade and
advanced toward the suspicious night-bird.

Just then he saw the other calmly turn the big key
and take it out of the door.

Page 157

That could be no thief! No, certainly not!

It was a gentleman of tall stature, whose aristocratic
figure and Spanish court costume were partially covered
by a long cloak.

There was no doubt! Wolf could not be mistaken,
for, while the former was putting the key in his pocket,
the mantle had slipped from one shoulder.

“Malfalconnet,” muttered Wolf, grasping
the hilt of his short sword more firmly.

But at the same moment the moonlight showed him the
Spaniard’s face. A chill ran through his
frame, followed by a feverish heat, for the nocturnal
intruder into his house was not the baron, but Quijada,
the noble Don Luis, his patron, who had just been
lauding to the skies the virtues, the beauty, the
goodness of the peerless Dona Magdalena de Ulloa,
his glorious wife. He had intended to send Wolf,
the friend and housemate of his victim, to Spain to
become the instructor of his deceived wife.

He saw through the game, and it seemed as if he could
not help laughing aloud in delight at his own penetration,
in rage and despair.

How clearly, and yet how coarsely and brutally, it
had all been planned!

The infamous scoundrel, who possessed so much influence
over the Emperor, had first sent old Blomberg away;
now he, Wolf, was to follow, that no one might stand
between the game and the pursuer.

Barbara’s lover must be Quijada. For the
Spaniard’s sake she had given him up, and perhaps
even played the part of adviser in this abominable
business. It must be so, for who else could know
what she was to him?

Yet no! He himself had aided the guilty passion
of this couple, for how warmly he had sung Barbara’s
praises to Don Luis! And then in how many a conversation
with Barbara had Quijada’s name been mentioned,
and he had always spoken of this man with warm regard.
Hence her remark that he himself deemed her lover
worthy of esteem.

In a few seconds these thoughts darted through his
heated brain with the speed of lightning.

The street began to whirl around him, and a deep loathing
of the base traitor, a boundless hatred of the destroyer
of his happiness, of the betrayed girl, and the life
which led through such abysses overpowered the deluded
man.

The infamous girl had just left her lover’s
arms, her kiss was doubtless still glowing on his
faithless lips!

Wolf groaned aloud like a sorely stricken deer, and
for a moment it seemed to him that the best course
would be to put an end to his own ruined life.
But rage and hate urged him upon another victim, and,
unable to control himself, he rushed with uplifted
blade upon the hypocritical seducer.

This utterly unexpected attack did not give Don Luis
time to draw his sword, but, with ready presence of
mind, he forced the hand wielding the weapon aside,
and, while he felt a sharp pain in his left arm, seized
the assassin with his right hand, swung his light
figure upward, and with the strength and skill peculiar
to him hurled it with all his might upon the stone
steps of the dwelling.

Page 158

Not a single word, only a savage cry of fury, followed
by a piteous moan, had escaped Wolf’s lips during
this swift deed of violence.

The Spaniard scornfully thrust aside with his foot
the inert body lying on the ground. His arrogance
did not deem it worth while to ascertain what had
befallen the murderer who had been punished. He
had more important things to do, for his own blood
was flowing in a hot, full stream over his hand.

Accustomed in bull fighting and in battle to maintain
his calmness and caution even in the most difficult
situation, he said to himself that, if his wound should
be connected with the murder before this house it would
betray his master’s secret to the Ratisbon courts
of justice, and thereby to the public.

He had heard the skull of the lurking thief strike
against the granite steps of the house. So the
dark, motionless mass before him was probably a corpse.
There was no hurry about that, but his own condition
compelled him to take care of himself. Entering
the shadow of a tall building opposite the dwelling,
he assured himself that the street was entirely empty,
and then, drawing the aching arm from the doublet,
he examined the wound as well as the dim light would
permit. It was deep, it is true, but the robber’s
weapon appeared merely to have cut the flesh.

A jerk, and Quijada had stripped the ruff from his
neck, and, as this did not suffice, he cut with his
sword blade and his teeth a piece of fine linen from
his shirt.

This would do for the first bandage. The skilful
hand which, in battle, had aided many a bleeding comrade
soon completed the task.

Then he flung his uninjured cloak around him again,
and turned toward the lifeless body at the foot of
the steps.

There lay the murderer’s weapon—­a
delicately fashioned short dress sword, with an ivory
hilt, not the knife of a common highwayman.

That was the reason the wound was so narrow.

But who had sought his life with this dainty steel
blade?

There were few at court who envied him the Emperor’s
favour—­his office often compelled him to
deny even persons of higher rank access to his Majesty;
but he had never—­this he could assure himself—­treated
even men of humble station harshly or unjustly.
If he had offended any one by haughty self-confidence,
it had been unintentional. He was not to blame
for the manner natural to the Castilian.

Besides, he had little time for reflection; scarcely
had he hastily wiped off with the little cloak that
lay beside him the blood which covered the face of
the prostrate man than he started back in horror, for
the person who had sought his life was the very one
whom he had honoured with his highest confidence,
and had chosen as the teacher and companion of the
wife who was dearer than his own existence.

Some cruel misunderstanding, some pitiable mistake
must have been at work here, and he came upon the
right trail speedily enough.

Page 159

The hapless knight loved Barbara, and had taken him,
Luis, for her betrayer and nocturnal visitor.

With sincere repentance for his needlessly violent
act of defence, he bent over the severely injured
man. His heart was still beating, but doubtless
on account of the great loss of blood—­it
throbbed with alarming weakness. Don Luis also
soon found a wound in the skull, which appeared to
be fractured.

If speedy aid was not rendered, the unfortunate man
was lost.

Quijada laid Wolf’s head quickly and carefully
on his cloak, which he placed in a roll beneath it,
and then hurried to the Red Cock, where one servant
was just opening the door and another was leading out
two horses. The latter was Jan, Wolf’s
Netherland servant, who wanted to water the animals
before starting on the journey.

He instantly recognised the nobleman; but the latter
had resolved to keep the poor musician’s attack
a secret.

As Jan bowed respectfully to him, he ordered him and
the servant of the Red Cock to leave everything and
follow him. He had found a dead man in the street.

A few minutes after the three were standing at the
steps of the house, before the object of their solicitude.

The groom of the Red Cock, who still held a lantern
in his hand, though dawn was already beginning to
glimmer faintly in the east, threw the light upon
the face of the bleeding form, and Jan exclaimed in
grief and terror that the injured man was his master.

The Brabant lad wailed, and the German, who had known
the “precentor cavalier” all his life,
joined in the lamentation; but Quijada induced them
both to think only of saving the wounded nobleman.

The old groom, with savage imprecations upon the scoundrels
who now infested their quiet streets, raised the wounded
man’s head and told Jan to lift his feet.
Both were familiar with the house, and, while the
servants bore Wolf up the narrow stairs, the proud
Spanish grandee lighted their way with the lantern,
supporting the wounded man’s injured head, with
his free hand. At the door of the young knight’s
rooms he told the servants to attend to his needs,
and then hurried back to the Golden Cross.

He found a great bustle prevailing there. Tilted
wagons were being loaded with the regent’s luggage,
couriers and servants were rushing to and fro, and
in the courtyard men were currying the horses which
were to be ridden on the journey.

Don Luis paid no heed to all this, hastening first
to the chapel to ask a young German chaplain to administer
the sacrament to Sir Wolf Hartschwert, to whose house
he hurriedly directed him. Then going swiftly
to the third story, he waked Dr. Mathys, the Emperor’s
leech.

The portly physician rubbed his eyes angrily; but
as soon as he learned for whom he was wanted and how
serious was the injury, he showed the most praiseworthy
haste and, with the attendant who carried his surgical
instruments and medicines, was standing beside the
sufferer’s couch almost as soon as the wounded
man.

Page 160

The result of his examination was anything but gratifying.

He would gladly do all that his skill would permit
for the knight, but in so serious a fracture of the
skull only the special mercy of Heaven could preserve
life.

Dr. Doll, the best physician in Ratisbon, assisted
him with the bandaging, and old Ursel had suddenly
recovered her lost strength.

When the maid-servant asked timidly if she should
not call Wawerl down from upstairs, she shrugged her
shoulders with a movement which the one-eyed girl
understood, and which signified anything but acceptance
of the proposal.

Yet Barbara would perhaps have rendered most efficacious
assistance.

True, she was still sleeping the sound slumber of
wearied youth. Directly after her return from
her imperial lover, she had gone to rest in the little
chamber behind the bow-windowed room. It looked
out upon the courtyard, and was protected from the
noise of the street. When she heard sounds in
the house, she thought that old Ursel was ill and they
were summoning the doctor. For a moment she felt
an impulse to rise and go downstairs, but she did
not like to leave her warm bed, and Wolf would manage
without her. She had always lacked patience to
wait upon the sick, and Ursel had grown so harsh and
disagreeable since she joined the Protestants.
Finally, Barbara had brought home exquisite recollections
of her illustrious lover, which must not be clouded
by the suffering of the old woman, whom, besides,
she could rarely please.

She did not learn what had happened until she went
to mass, and then it weighed heavily upon her heart
that she had not given Wolf her assistance, especially
as she suspected, with strange certainty, that she
herself was connected with this terrible misfortune.

Now—­ah, how gladly!—­she would
have helped Ursel with the nursing, but she forbade
her to enter the sick-room. The most absolute
quiet must reign there. No one was permitted
to cross the threshold except herself and an elderly
nun, whom the Clares had sent for the sake of the wounded
man’s dead mother. A Dominican also soon
came, whom the old woman could not shut out because
he was despatched by the Queen of Hungary, and the
violinist Massi, whom she gladly welcomed as a good
friend of her Wolf. He proved himself loyal,
and devoted every leisure hour of the night to the
sufferer. Barbara knocked at the door very often,
but Ursel persisted in refusing admittance. She
knew that the girl had rejected her darling’s
proposal, and it was a satisfaction to her when, toward
noon, the former told her that she was about to leave
the house to go to Prebrunn.

A cart would convey her luggage, but it would be only
lightly laden. Fran Lerch went with the baggage.

An hour later Barbara herself moved into the little
castle, which had been refurnished for her. Mounted
upon a spirited bay horse from her Prebrunn stables,
she rode beside the Marquise de Leria’s huge
litter to her new home.

Page 161

CHAPTER XXIV.

The very harsh execrations which the regent bestowed
upon pleasant Ratisbon when she learned what had befallen
Sir Wolf Hartschwert were better suited to the huntress
than to the queen and sister of a mighty emperor.

Murderous knaves who, in the heart of the city, close
to the imperial precincts, endangered the lives of
peaceful people at night! It was unprecedented,
and yet evidently only a result of the heretical abuses.

She had sprung into the saddle—­she always
travelled on horseback—­in the worst possible
mood, but had urged all who were near the Emperor
Charles’s person, and also the almoner Pedro
de Soto, to remember the wounded man and do everything
possible to aid his recovery.

She did not mention Barbara, even by a single word,
in her farewell to her royal brother.

The latter had intended to accompany her a portion
of the way, but a great quantity of work—­not
least in consequence of the loss of time occasioned
by the new love life—­had accumulated, and
he therefore preferred to take leave of his sister
in the courtyard of the Golden Cross.

There, with his assistance, she mounted her horse.

Quijada, who usually rendered her this service, stood
aloof, silent and pale. The regent had noticed
it, and attributed his appearance to grief for her
departure. No one at court held a higher place
in her regard, and it pleased her that he, too, found
it so hard to do without her.

As her horse started, her last salute was to the monarch
and to him.

Malfalconnet, whose eyes were everywhere, noticed
it, and whispered to the Marquise de Leria, who was
standing beside him: “Either Don Luis would
do well to intrust himself to our Mathys’s treatment,
or this gentleman is an accomplished actor, or our
most gracious lady has tampered with the fidelity
of this most loyal husband, and the paternosters and
pilgrimages of Dona Magdalena de Ulloa have been vain.”

A few minutes after, the Emperor Charles was sitting
at the writing table examining, with the Bishop of
Arras, a mountain of reports and documents. Two
or three hours elapsed ere he received ambassadors
and gave audiences, and during that time Quijada was
not needed by his royal master.

He had previously had leisure only to provide for
the wounded man, cleanse himself from blood, change
his dress, bid Queen Mary farewell, and bandage the
hurt afresh. He had done this with his own hands
because he distrusted the reticence of his extremely
skilful but heedless French valet.

When he returned to his lodgings, Master Adrian followed
him, and modestly, yet with all the warmth of affection
which he felt for this true friend of his master,
entreated him to permit him to speak freely.
He had perceived, not only by the pallor of Don Luis’s
cheeks, but other signs, that he was suffering, and
in the name of his wife, who, when her husband was
summoned from her side, had urged him with the earnestness
of anxious love to watch over him, begged him not
to force himself beyond his strength to perform his
service, if his sufferings corresponded with his appearance.

Page 162

Don Luis looked sharply into the faithful face, and
what he found there induced him to admit that he was
concealing a wound. Adrian silently beckoned
to him, and led the way into his own room, where he
entreated Don Luis to show him the injury. When
he saw it, his by no means mobile features blanched.

He knew that Quijada had accompanied Barbara home
that night. On this errand, he was sure of it,
Don Luis must have received this serious wound at
the same time as Wolf, or even obtained it from the
young knight himself. Besides, he felt certain
that the object of the Emperor’s love was connected
with both disasters. Yet not a word which could
have resembled a question escaped his beardless lips
while he examined, sewed, and bandaged the deep sword
thrust with the skill and care of a surgeon.

When he had finished his task, he thanked Don Luis
for the confidence reposed in him.

Quijada pressed his hand gratefully, and begged him
to do his best that no one, not even the Emperor,
should learn anything about this vexatious mischance.
Then, not from curiosity, for grave motives, he desired
to know what relations existed between Sir Wolf Hartschwert
and Barbara.

The answer was somewhat delayed, for Wolf had won
the affection of the influential valet, and what Master
Adrian had learned concerning the young knight’s
personal affairs from himself, his own wife in Brussels,
and the violinist Massi, he would have confided to
no one on earth except Quijada, and perhaps not even
to him had he not accompanied his inquiry with the
assurance that what he intrusted to him would remain
buried in his soul, and be used only for Wolf’s
advantage.

This promise loosed the cautious valet’s tongue.
He knew his man, and, when Don Luis also desired to
learn whether the knight had already discovered that
Barbara was now the Emperor’s love, he thought
he could answer in the negative.

What he had heard of Wolf’s relation to Barbara
was only that the two had spent their early youth
in the same house, that the knight loved the singer,
but that she had rejected his suit.

This avowal appeared to satisfy Quijada, and it really
did calm him. He now believed that Wolf had misjudged
him, and, supposing that he was coming from a meeting
with the girl he loved, had drawn his sword against
him. The manner in which he had attempted to rid
himself of the rival seemed criminal enough, yet the
nocturnal attack had scarcely concerned him personally,
and he would not condemn the man who was usually so
calm and sensible without having heard him.

If Wolf lived—­and he desired it from his
heart—­this act, which he appeared to have
committed in a fit of blind jealousy, should do him
no injury.

With a warm clasp of the hand, which united these
two men more firmly than a long period of mutual intercourse,
each went his way in quiet content.

In the afternoon Master Adrian was sent out to Prebrunn
to announce to Barbara a visit from the Emperor after
vespers.

Page 163

Wolf, it is true, had told her many things about Adrian
Dubois, and informed her how much pleasure he had
had at Brussels in visiting him and his sensible,
cheerful wife, how implicitly the Emperor trusted him,
how faithfully he served him, how highly the ambassadors
and the most aristocratic gentlemen esteemed him,
and how great an advantage it had been to him, Wolf,
to possess his friendship; yet she thought proper to
treat the valet with the haughty reserve which beseemed
her as the Emperor’s favourite, and which yesterday
evening had won the approval of the Wittenberg theologian
and of Wolf.

But Master Adrian appeared to take no notice of her
manner, and performed his errand with businesslike
composure.

The Emperor Charles wished to know how she liked her
new home.

In reality she had found its beauty and comfort far
beyond her expectations, had clapped her hands in
surprise when she was conducted by the marquise through
the new abode, and, under the guidance of the house
steward Steen, had been shown the kitchen, the stable,
the four horses, and the garden. In her reception-room
she found a lute and a harp of exquisitely beautiful
workmanship, and a small Milan cabinet made of ebony
inlaid with ivory, in which was a heavy casket bound
with silver. The key had been given to her the
evening before by the regent herself, and when Barbara
opened it she discovered so many shining zecchins and
ducats that a long time was occupied when she obeyed
Fran Lerch’s request to count them.

The dressmaker from the Grieb was already in her service,
and had been a witness of her sincere delight and
grateful pleasure. The second hour after their
arrival she had helped her to employ Frau Lamperi,
the maid whom the steward called the ‘garde-robiere’,
and had already been to the city herself to buy, for
her fortunate “darling” costly but, on
account of the approach of summer, light materials.
But she had seen Master Adrian corning, and, while
he was passing through the garden, gave her the advice
by no means to praise what she found here, but to appear
as though she had been accustomed to such surroundings,
and found this and that not quite worthy of her, but
needing addition and improvement.

At first Barbara had succeeded in assuming the airs
of the spoiled lady, but when Adrian, with prosaic
definiteness, asked for details, and she saw herself
compelled to begin the game of dissimulation anew,
it grew repugnant to her.

To her artist nature every restraint soon became irksome,
especially so unpleasant a one, which was opposed
to her character, and ere she was her self aware of
it she was again the vivacious Wawerl, and frankly
and freely expressed her pleasure in the beautiful
new things she owed to her lover’s kindness.

A smile, so faint and brief that Barbara did not perceive
it, was hovering meanwhile around the valet’s
thin lips. The causes of this strange change
of opinion and mood would have been sufficiently intelligible
to him, even had he not perceived one of the reproving
glances which Frau Lerch cast at Barbara.

Page 164

She, too, had met one; but since she had once obeyed
the impulse of her own nature, and felt content in
doing so, she troubled herself no further about the
monitor, and there was nothing in her new home which
was not far more beautiful than what she had had in
the precentor’s modest house.

The marquise displeased her most deeply, and this
also she plainly told Master Adrian, and begged him
to inform his Majesty, with her dutiful greeting.
His best gift was the precaution which he had taken
that she should live apart from the old monkey.

The valet received this commission, like all the former
ones, with a slight, grave bow.

On the whole, the experienced man was not ill-pleased
with her, only it seemed to him strange that Barbara
did not mention the serious misfortune which had befallen
Wolf; yet she knew from his own lips that he loved
the knight, and had learned that the latter’s
life was in serious danger.

So he turned the conversation to his young friend,
and in an instant a remarkable change took place in
Barbara. Wolf’s sorrowful fate and severe
wound had weighed heavily upon her heart, but what
the present brought was so novel and varied that it
had crowded the painful event, near as was the past
to which it belonged, into the shadow.

She now desired to know who the murderer was who had
attacked him, and cursed him with impetuous wrath.
She thought it base and shameful that she had been
denied access to his couch.

Poor, poor Wolf!

Of all the men on earth, he was the best! Meanwhile
tears of genuine compassion flowed from her eyes and,
with passionate vehemence, she declared that no power
in the world should keep her from him. The mere
sound of her voice, she knew, would be a cordial to
him.

So Master Adrian had not been mistaken.

It was not only in song that she was capable of deep
feeling, and the love which had seized the Emperor
Charles so late, and yet so powerfully, had not gone
far astray.

He could scarcely have bestowed it upon a more beautiful
woman. While pleasure in her new surroundings
held sway over her, it was a real pleasure to see
her face. But this creature, so richly gifted
by the grace of God, was not suited for his modest
young friend; this had become especially evident to
him when an almost evil expression escaped her lips
while she emptied the vial of her wrath upon Wolf’s
murderer.

If she deemed herself worthy of his master’s
love, she would not lack Adrian’s protection,
which was the more effective the more persistently
he refrained from asking of the Emperor’s favour
even the slightest thing for himself, his wife, or
others; that the time would come when she would need
it, he was certain.

No one knew the Emperor so well as he, and he saw
before him the cliffs which threatened to shatter
the little ship of this love bond. Already an
imprudent violation of his extreme sense of the dignity
of majesty, or of the confidence which he bestowed
upon her, might become fatal to it.

Page 165

But, ardently as she might return his love, loyal
and discreet as her conduct might be, there were other
grave perils menacing the tie which united the Emperor
to Barbara.

Charles was a man of action, of work, of fulfilment
of duty. The moment that he perceived this love
bond would impede his progress toward the lofty goals
to which he aspired might easily mark the beginning
of its end.

Now, in the midst of peace, such a result was scarcely
to be feared; but if it came to fighting—­and
many a sign showed Adrian that war was not far distant—­a
great change would take place in his master’s
character; the general would assert his rights.
Every other consideration would then be pitilessly
thrust aside and, if Charles still remained loyal to
his affection, he would have fallen under the spell
of one of those great passions which defy every assault
of time and circumstance and find an end only in death.
But the sharp-sighted man could not believe in such
love on his master’s part; in his nature the
claims of reason threw those of the heart too far
into the shade. If Barbara was wise, her daily
prayer should be for the maintenance of peace.

To speak of these fears to the care-free girl would
have been cruel, but he could probably give her a
useful hint as opportunity offered.

Accustomed to perform his duty silently and, where
speech was necessary, to study the utmost brevity,
he had not learned the art of clothing his thoughts
in pleasing forms. So, without circumlocution,
he whispered to Barbara the advice to send away Frau
Lerch, who was not fit for her service, and as soon
as possible to dismiss her entirely.

The girl flew into a rage, and no whisper or urgency
from another, but her own unbridled, independent nature,
which during continual struggle had been steeled to
assert herself, in spite of her poverty, among the
rich companions of her own rank, as well as the newly
awakened haughty consciousness that now, as the object
of the mightiest monarch’s love, she was exalted
far above the companions of her own rank—­led
her to rebuff the warning of the well-meaning man
with a sharpness that it ill beseemed one so much
younger to use toward the Emperor’s gray-haired
messenger.

The valet shrugged his shoulders compassionately,
and his regular features, whose expression varied
only under the influence of strong, deep feelings,
distinctly betrayed how sincerely he lamented her conduct.

Barbara noticed it, and instantly remembered what
Wolf had told her about him and his wife. She
did not think of the influence which he exercised
upon the Emperor and the service which he might render
her, but all the more vividly of his steadfast, devoted
loyalty, and what he was and had accomplished for
the man whom she loved, and, seized with sincere repentance,
obeying a powerful impulse, she held out her hand with
frank cordiality just as he was already bowing in
farewell. Adrian hesitated a moment.

Page 166

What did this mean?

What accident was causing this new change of feeling
in this April day of a girl?

But when her sparkling blue eyes gazed at him so brightly
and at the same time so plainly showed that she knew
she had wronged him, he clasped the hand, and his
face again wore a friendly expression.

Then Barbara laughed in her bewitching, bell-like
tones and, like a naughty child begging forgiveness
for a trivial fault, asked him gaily not to take offence
at her foolish arrogance. All the new things here
had somewhat turned her silly brain. She knew
how faithfully he served her Charles, and for that
reason she could not help liking him already.

“If you have any cause to find fault with me,”
she concluded merrily, “out with it honestly.”
Then addressing Frau Lerch, not as though she were
speaking to a servant, but to an older friend, she
asked her to leave her alone with Herr Adrian a short
time; but she insisted positively on having her own
way when the dressmaker remarked that she did not
know why, after the greatest secret of all had been
forced upon her, her discretion should be distrusted.

As soon as she had retired the valet entreated Barbara
to beware of the advice of this woman, whose designs
he saw perfectly. He, Adrian, would wish her
to have a companion of nobler nature and more delicate
perceptions.

But this warning seemed scarcely endurable to Barbara.
Although she did not fly into a passion again, she
asked in an irritated tone whether Adrian had been
granted the power of looking into another’s soul.
What she perceived with absolute certainty in Frau
Lerch, who, as her dead mother’s maid, had tended
her as a child, was great faithfulness and secrecy
and the most skilful hands. Still, she promised
to remember his well-meant counsel.

Adrian’s warning always to consider what a position
her lord occupied in the world, and to beware of crossing
the border line which separated the monarch from his
subjects, and even from those who were of the highest
rank and dearest to him, was gratefully received, for
she remembered the sharp rebuff which she had already
experienced from her lover. It proved this excellent
man’s good will toward her, and her eyes fairly
hung upon his lips as he informed her of some of his
master’s habits and peculiarities which she
must regard. He warned her, with special earnestness,
not to allow herself to be used by others to win favour
or pardon for themselves or their kindred. She
might perhaps find means for it later; now she would
at once awaken in the extremely suspicious monarch
doubt of her unselfishness.

Page 167

This was certainly good advice, and Barbara confessed
to the valet that the marquise had requested her at
dinner that day to intercede for her unfortunate son,
who, unluckily, had the misfortune to be misunderstood
by the Emperor Charles. Master Adrian had expected
something of the kind, for the lady in waiting had
more than once urged him also to obtain his Majesty’s
pardon for this ruined profligate, the shame of his
noble race. He had persistently refused this
request, and now enjoined it upon Barbara to follow
his example. Before leaving her, he undertook
to send her tidings of Wolf’s health now and
then by the violinist Massi, as he had not leisure
to do it himself. At the same time he earnestly
entreated her to repress her wish to see the sufferer
again, and to bear in mind that she could receive
no visitor, take no step in this house or in the city,
which would not be known in the Golden Cross.

Barbara passionately demanded to know the spy who
was watching her, and whether she must beware specially
of the marquise, her French maid, the Spanish priest
who accompanied the old woman as her confessor, the
garde-robiere Lamperi, who nevertheless had a good
face, or who else among the servants.

On this point, however, the valet would or could give
no information. He knew only his master’s
nature. Just as he was better acquainted with
every province than the most experienced governor,
with every band of soldiers than the sergeant, so
nothing escaped him which concerned the private lives
of those whom he valued. It need not grieve her
that he watched her so carefully. Her acts and
conduct would not become a matter of indifference
to him until he withdrew his confidence from her or
his love grew cold.

The deep impression which this information made upon
the girl surprised Adrian. While he was speaking
her large eyes dilated more and more, and with hurried
breathing she listened until he had finished.
Then pressing both hands upon her temples, she frantically
exclaimed: “But that is horrible! it is
base and unworthy! I will not be a prisoner—!
will not, can not bear it! My whole heart is
his, and never belonged to any other; but, rather
than be unable to take a step that is not watched,
like the Sultan’s female slaves, I will return
to my father.”

Here she hesitated; for the first time since she had
entered Prebrunn she remembered the old man who for
her sake had been sent out into the world. But
she soon went on more calmly: “I even permitted
my father to be taken from me and sent away, perhaps
to death. I gave everything to my sovereign,
and if he wants my life also,” she continued
with fresh emotion, “he may have it; but the
existence of a caged bird!—­that will destroy
me.”

Here the sensible man interrupted her with the assurance
that no one, last of all his Majesty, thought of restricting
her liberty more than was reasonable. She would
be permitted to walk and to use her horses exactly
as she pleased, only the object of her walks and rides
must be one which she could mention to her royal lover
without timidity.

Page 168

Barbara, still with quickened breathing, then put
the question how she could know this; and Adrian,
with a significant smile, replied that her heart would
tell her, and if it should ever err—­of this
he was certain—­the Emperor Charles.

With these words he took leave of her to go, on behalf
of his master, to the marquise, and Barbara stood
motionless for some time, gazing after him.

In the Golden Cross Quijada asked Adrian what he thought
of the singer, and it was some time ere he answered
deliberately: “If only I knew exactly myself,
your lordship—­I am only a plain man, who
wishes every one the best future. Here I do so
out of regard for his Majesty, Sir Wolf Hartschwert,
and the inexperienced youth of this marvellously beautiful
creature. But if you were to force me by the rack
to form a definite opinion of her, I could not do
it. The most favourable would not be too good,
the reverse scarcely too severe. To reconcile
such contrasts is beyond my power. She is certainly
something unusual, that will fit no mould with which
I am familiar.”

“If you had a son,” asked Don Luis, “would
you receive her gladly as a daughter-in-law?”

A gesture of denial from the valet gave eloquent expression
of his opinion; but Quijada went on in a tone of anxious
inquiry: “Then what will she whom he loves
be to the master whose happiness and peace are as
dear to you as to me?”

Adrian started, and answered firmly: “For
him, it seems to me, she will perhaps be the right
one, for what power could she assert against his?
And, besides, there is something in his Majesty, as
well as in this girl, which distinguishes them from
other mortals. What do I mean by that? I
see and hear it, but I can neither exactly understand
nor name it.”

“That might be difficult even for a more adroit
speaker,” replied Quijada; “but I think
I know to what you allude. You and I, Master
Adrian, have hearts in our breasts, like thousands
of other people, and in our heads what is termed common
sense. In his Majesty something else is added.
It seems as though he has at command a messenger from
heaven who brings him thought and decisions.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Adrian eagerly;
“and whenever she raises her voice to sing,
a second one stands by the side of this Barbara Blomberg.”

“Only we do not yet know,” observed Quijada
anxiously, “whether this second one with the
singer is a messenger from heaven, like his Majesty’s,
or an emissary of hell.”

The valet shrugged his shoulders irresolutely, and
said quietly: “How could I venture to express
an opinion about so noble an art? But when I
was listening to the hymn to the Virgin yesterday,
it seemed as if an angel from heaven was singing from
her lips.”

“Let us hope that you may be right,” replied
the other. “But no matter! I think
I know whence comes the invisible ally his Majesty
has at his disposal. It is the Holy Ghost that
sends him—­there is no doubt of it!
His control is visible everywhere. With miraculous
power he urges him on in advance of all others, and
even of himself. This becomes most distinctly
perceptible in war.”

Page 169

“That is true,” declared the valet, “and
your lordship has surely hit the right clew.
For”—­he glanced cautiously around
him and lowered his voice—­“whenever
I put on my master’s armour I always feel how
he is trembling—­yes, trembling, your lordship.
His face is livid, and the drops of perspiration on
his brow are not due solely to the heat.”

“And then,” cried Quijada, his black eyes
sparkling with a fiery light—­“then
in his agitation he scarcely knows what he is doing
as I hold the stirrup for him. But when, once
in his saddle, his divine companion descends to him,
he dashes upon the foe like a whirlwind and, wherever
he strikes, how the chips fly! The strongest succumb
to his blows. ‘Victory! victory!’
men shout exultingly wherever he goes. Even in
the last accursed Algerian defeat his helper was at
his side; for, Adrian”—­here he, too,
lowered his voice—­“without him and
his wonderful power every living soul of us, down
to the last boat and camp follower, would have been
destroyed.”

ETEXT editor’sbookmarks:

Catholic, but his stomach
desired to be Protestant (Erasmus)

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 6.

CHAPTER XXV.

After this conversation the two men who, in different
positions, stood nearest to the Emperor Charles, placed
no obstacle in Barbara’s way.

The third—­the Bishop of Arras—­also
showed a friendly spirit toward the Emperor’s
love affair. True, he had not been taken into
his confidence, but he rarely failed to be present
when Barbara sang with the boy choir, or alone, in
the Golden Cross, before the monarch or distinguished
guests.

Charles summoned her there almost daily, and always
at different hours.

This was done to strengthen the courtiers and the
citizens of Ratisbon in the belief that Barbara owed
his favour solely to her singing.

Granvelle, who appreciated and was interested in music
as well as in painting and sculpture, found real pleasure
in listening to Barbara, yet while doing so he did
not forget that she might be of service to him.
If she only remained on good terms with him she would,
he was sure of that, whether willing or not, be used
as his tool.

Spite of his nine-and-twenty years, he forbade himself
to cherish any other wishes, because he would have
regarded it treachery to the royal master whom he
served with faithful devotion. But, as he accepted
great gifts without ever allowing himself to be tempted
to treason or forgetfulness of duty, so he did not
reject little tokens of friendliness from Barbara,
and of these she showed no lack. The young Bishop
of Arras was also an extremely fine-looking man, whose
clever brain and bright, penetrating glance harmonized
with his great intellect and his position. Wolf
had already told her how much the monarch regarded
the opinion of this counsellor.

Page 170

The fourth person whose good will had been represented
to her as valuable was the almoner, Pedro de Soto;
but he, who usually understood how to pay homage to
beautiful women in the most delicate manner, kept rigidly
aloof.

True, he had placed no obstacle in the way of the
late kindling of the heart of his imperial master,
but since his servant’s report, from which it
appeared that Barbara was on friendly terms with heretics,
and therefore cherished but a lukewarm devotion to
her own faith, she was no longer the same to him.
In Spain this would have been enough to deliver her
to the Holy Inquisition. Here, however, matters
were different. Everywhere he saw the lambs associating
with the wolves, and the larger number of the relatives
of the Emperor’s love had become converts to
heresy. Therefore indulgence was demanded, and
De Soto would have gladly been convinced of Barbara’s
orthodoxy under such difficult circumstances.
But if it proved that the girl not only associated
with heretics, but inclined to their error, then gentle
inaction must be transformed into inexorable sternness,
even though the rejuvenating power which she exerted
upon the monarch were tenfold stronger than it doubtless
was; for what danger might threaten the Emperor and
Christianity from the bewitching woman who seemed
to love Charles, if she undertook to influence him
in favour of the new doctrines, which, in the eyes
of every earnest Dominican, the Emperor treated far
too leniently!

He, the confessor, even knew that Charles considered
several demands of the Protestants to which the Church
could never consent, entirely justifiable—­nay,
that he deemed a reformation of the Church by the
council now in session at Trent extremely desirable.

Therefore it was a duty to withhold from him every
influence which could favour these pernicious views
and wishes, and Pedro de Soto had also been young
and knew only too well what power so beautiful a woman,
with such bewitching gifts, could exert upon the man
whose heart cherishes her.

So, immediately after Barbara’s entrance into
Prebrunn, the confessor adopted his measures.
Although the conversation to which he subjected her
had resulted in her favour, he had deemed it beneficial
to place a priest who was devoted to him among the
ecclesiastics in the little castle.

To surround her with spies chosen from the lay class
was repugnant to his lofty nature. Besides, they
would have been superfluous; for a short time before
his servant Cassian had asked permission to marry the
marquise’s French maid, and Alphonsine, who
was neither young nor pretty, was inclined to all
sorts of intrigues. She supplied slow, pious Cassian’s
deficiencies in the best possible manner. A chance
word from the distinguished prelate had sufficed to
make it their duty to watch Barbara and her visitors.

In Alphonsine’s mistress, the Marquise de Leria,
the almoner also possessed a willing tale-bearer.
She had avoided him since his refusal to commend her
ruined son to the favour of his imperial penitent.
Now, unasked, she had again approached him, and her
explanation first gave many an apparently unimportant
communication from the servants its real value.

Page 171

The atmosphere of the court was her vital air.
Even when she had voluntarily offered to take Barbara
under her charge, in a secluded house in the suburb,
she had been aware how greatly she would miss the presence
of royalty. Yet she would have endured far more
difficult things, for a thousand signs betrayed that
this time his Majesty’s heart had not been merely
superficially touched, and Barbara’s traits of
character made it appear probable that, like many
a beauty at the court of Francis I of France, she
might obtain an influence over the Emperor. If
this occurred, the marquise had found the most powerful
tool for the deliverance of her son.

This hope filled the old noblewoman’s heart
and brain. It was her last, for the Emperor was
the only person who could save the worthless idol of
her soul from ruin, and yet, when she had grovelled
at his knees in her despair, she received an angry
repulse and the threat of being instantly deprived
of her position if she ever again attempted to speak
to him about this vexatious matter. She knew
only too well that Charles would keep his word, and
therefore had already induced every person whom she
believed possessed even a small share of influence
over the monarch to intercede for her, but they had
been no less sharply rebuffed than herself; for the
sovereign, usually so indulgent to the reckless pranks
of the young nobles, would not even hear the name of
the aristocratic sharper, who was said to have sold
the plans of the fortifications to France.

Charles now loved a woman whom, with swift presence
of mind, she had bound to herself, and what no one
else had succeeded in doing Barbara might accomplish.

Therefore the marquise had retired to the solitude
which she hated, and hourly humbled herself to cringing
flattery of a creature whom, on account of her birth,
she scorned.

But Barbara was warned and, difficult as it often
was for her to withstand the humble entreaties to
which the old lady in waiting frequently condescended,
persisted in her refusal.

Yet the unhappy mother did not give up hope, for as
soon as the singer committed any act which she was
obliged to conceal she could obtain power over her.
So she kept her eyes open and, whenever the Emperor
sought the young girl and was alone with her, she
stole into the garden and peered through the badly
fitting window shutters into the lighted room which
was the scene of the happiness of the ill-matched
lovers.

What she overheard, however, only increased the feeling
of powerlessness against the hated creature whom she
so urgently needed; for the tenderness which Charles
showed Barbara was so great that it not only filled
the marquise with surprise and bitter envy, but also
awakened the conviction that it must be a small matter
for the singer to obtain from so ardent a lover far
greater things than she had asked.

So she continued to watch and listen unweariedly,
day after day and evening after evening, but always
in vain. She had not the most trivial thing for
which Barbara could be seriously reproached to report
to the confessor; yet De Soto desired nothing better,
for Barbara still exerted an extremely favourable
influence upon the Emperor’s mood. Therefore
it vexed him that Cassian informed him of many things
which prevented his relying firmly upon her orthodoxy.

Page 172

At any rate, there were Protestants among her visitors
and, unfortunately, they included Herr Peter Schlumperger,
whom De Soto knew as an active promoter of the apostasy
of the Ratisbon burghers. He had called upon
her the second day after her arrival and remained a
long time but, it is true, had not appeared again.
With the others also she held no regular intercourse—­nay,
she scarcely seemed to enjoy their visits. Thus
the daughters of the Woller family from the Ark, who
had appeared one afternoon, had been detained only
a little longer by her than other Protestant matrons
and maidens.

All this was scarcely sufficient to foster his anxiety;
but Cassian reported one visit with which the case
was different. Barbara had not only received
this guest alone, but she had kept him more than an
hour, and the servant could swear that the young man
to whom she sang long songs—­which, it is
true, sounded like church music—­to the lute
and also to the harp, was Erasmus Eckhart, the adopted
son of the archtraitor, Dr. Hiltner, who had just
obtained the degree of Master of Arts in Wittenberg.
This seemed suspicious, and induced De Soto to investigate
the matter thoroughly.

Erasmus had come in the morning, at a time when the
Emperor never visited Barbara. Nothing remarkable
had taken place during their interview, but Cassian
had heard her dismiss him with a warning which, even
to a less distrustful person, would have seemed suspicious.
Why had she assured the Wittenberg theologian, as
she extended her hand to him in farewell, that what
he offered her had given her great pleasure, and she
would gladly invite him to bring her similar things
often, but must deny herself this gratification from
motives which he could imagine? His urgent entreaty
at least to be permitted to call on her sometimes
she had curtly and positively refused, but the Wittenberg
heretic did not allow himself to be rebuffed, for
Cassian had seen him several times in the neighbourhood
of the castle.

There was as little cause to object to the visits
paid to her by Gombert, Appenzelder, Damian Feys,
occasionally some noblemen or guests of the court,
and once even by no less a personage than the Bishop
of Arras, as to the rides she took every afternoon;
for the latter were always under the charge of Herr
de Fours, an old equerry of the Emperor, and in the
company of several courtiers, among whom Baron Malfalconnet
was often included. A number of gay young pages
always belonged to this brilliant cavalcade, whose
number never lacked the handsome sixteen-year-old Count
Tassis, who spent his whole large stock of pocket money
in flowers which he sent every morning to Barbara.

The confessor was glad to hear that the estimable
violinist Massi frequently visited the girl, for he
was firm in the faith, and that he brought her tidings
of the sorely wounded Sir Wolf Hartschwert could only
be beneficial, for perhaps he warned her of the seriousness
of life and that there were other things here below
than the joy of love, jest, and laughter. The
almoner’s doubt of Wolf’s orthodoxy had
been entirely dispelled by his confession. Men
do not deceive in the presence of death.

Page 173

It would have been a genuine boon had Barbara selected
him to open her heart to him in the confessional,
for her relation to the wounded man rendered it difficult
for him to trust her entirely.

Wolf’s thoughts in his fever constantly dwelt
upon her, and he sometimes accused her of the basest
treachery, sometimes coupled her name with Malfalconnet’s,
sometimes with Luis Quijada’s. The Emperor’s,
on the contrary, he had not mentioned.

He must love Barbara with ardent passion, and she,
too, still seemed warmly attached to him, for to see
him again she had bravely exposed herself to serious
danger.

Eye and ear witnesses had reported that, notwithstanding
his Majesty’s positive orders to avoid her old
home, she had entered the house and the knight’s
apartments, knelt beside his couch, and even kissed
his weak, burning hand with tender devotion.

But though she still retained a portion of her former
affection for Wolf Hartschwert, she loved the Emperor
Charles with passionate fervour. Even the marquise
did not venture to doubt this. Often as she had
watched the meetings of the lovers, she had marvelled
at the youthful ardour of the monarch, the joyous
excitement with which Barbara awaited him, and her
sorrowful depression when he left her. During
the first week the old noblewoman thought that she
had never met a happier pair. The almoner deemed
it unworthy of him to listen to a report of the caresses
which she scornfully mentioned.

The time even came when he no longer needed confirmation
from others, and forbade himself to doubt Barbara’s
fidelity to her religion; for at the end of the first
week in Prebrunn she had desired to ask a servant of
the Church what she must do to make herself worthy
of such abundance of the highest happiness, and to
atone for the sin she was committing through her love.

In doing so she had opened her heart to the confessor
with childlike frankness, and what De Soto heard on
this occasion sincerely delighted him and endeared
to him this thoroughly sound, beautiful creature overmastered
by a first great passion. He believed her, and
indignantly rejected what the spies afterward brought
to him.

Yet he did not close his ears to the marquise when,
in her clever, entertaining way, she told him what,
against her will, she had overheard in consequence
of the careless construction of the little castle,
built only for a summer residence, or had seen during
a walk in the garden when the shutters, through forgetfulness,
had not been closed.

How should he not have heard gladly that the monarch,
at every interview with Barbara, listened to her singing
with special pleasure?

At first she chose grave, usually even religious songs,
and among them Charles’s favourite was the “Quia
amore langueo.”

To listen to these deeply felt tones of yearning always
seemed to possess a fresh charm for him.

No wonder!

Page 174

The singer understood how to produce a new effect
each time by means of wonderful gradations of expression
in the comprehension and execution.

Once she had also succeeded in cheering her lover
with Perissone Cambio’s merry singing lesson
on the ‘ut re mi fa sol’, and again with
Willaert’s laughing song, “Sempre mi ridesta.”

Two days later there had again been a great deal of
laughing because Barbara undertook to sing to his
Majesty another almost recklessly merry song by the
same composer. The marquise knew it, and declared
that Barbara’s style and voice did not suit
such things. She admitted that her execution
of serious, especially religious and solemn compositions,
was not amiss—­nay, often it was wonderfully
fine—­but in such secular tunes her real
nature appeared too plainly, and the skilful singer
became a Bacchante.

It had been a sorry pleasure to her to watch the boisterous
manner and singing of this creature, who had been
far too highly favoured by the caprice of Fortune.

These reckless songs, unless she was mistaken, had
also been by no means pleasing to his Majesty.
The light had fallen directly upon his face just as
she happened to glance up at the house from under the
group of lindens, and she had distinctly seen him
angrily thrust out his lower lip, which every one
near his person knew was a sign of extreme displeasure.

But the girl had gone beyond all bounds. Old
as she was, she could not help blushing at the mere
thought of it. In her reckless mood she had probably
forgotten that she had drawn her imperial lover into
her net by arts of an entirely different nature.
The almoner listened incredulously, for in his youth
the Emperor Charles had joined in the wildest songs
of the soldiery, and had well understood, on certain
occasions, how to be merry with the merry, laugh and
carouse in a Flemish tavern. After the confession
the almoner heard things to which he would gladly have
shut his ears, though they proved that the time which
the marquise had spent at the French court had benefited
her powers of observation.

Three days before the Emperor, for the first time,
had seriously found fault with Barbara.

It had been impossible for the lady in waiting to
discover the cause; but what she knew certainly was
that her lover’s censure had roused the girl
to vehement contradiction, and that his Majesty, after
a sharp reply, had been on the point of leaving her.
True, the reckless beauty had repented her imprudent
outburst of wrath speedily enough, and had understood
how to conciliate the far too indulgent sovereign
by such humility and such sweet tenderness that he
probably must have forgiven her—­at least
the farewell had been as affectionate as ever.

Nevertheless, on the following evening, for the first
time, he did not come to the castle, and the marquise
had feared that the Emperor might now withdraw his
favour from Barbara, which would have been too soon
for her own wishes.

Page 175

But yesterday evening, after sunset, the dark litter,
to the old noblewoman’s relief, had again stopped
behind the garden gate, and the pleasure of having
her lover again had so deeply overjoyed Barbara that
he, too, was infected by her radiant delight.

Then, in the midst of the most tender caresses, he
had been summoned out of the room, and when he returned,
with frowning brow, the marquise had witnessed at
least the commencement of a scene which seemed to justify
her opinion that his Majesty: would have no taste
for Barbara’s utter freedom from restraint and
gay secular songs.

Unfortunately, she had been prematurely driven from
her post of observation; but she had seen the Emperor
come in, and Barbara, without noticing his altered
expression, or rather, probably, to cheer him by something
especially merry, gaily began Baldassare Donati’s
superb dancing-master’s song, “Qui la
gagliarda vuol imparare,” at the same time in
the merriest, most graceful manner imitating the movements
of the gagliarda dancer.

But Charles soon interrupted her, sharply requesting
her to sing something else or cease entirely for that
day.

Startled, she again asked forgiveness, and then pleaded
in justification the universally acknowledged beauty
of this charming song, which Maestro Gombert also
admired; but the Emperor flew into a passion, and cut
her short with the loud remark that he was not in
the habit of having his own judgment corrected by
the opinion of others. The jest did all honour
to the skill and merry mood of the composer, but the
contrary might be said of the singer who ventured
to sing it to a person in whom it could awaken only
bitter feelings.

But when, so painfully surprised that her eyes filled
with tears, she confessed that her selection perhaps
had not been very appropriate, and sadly added the
inquiry why her beloved sovereign condemned a trivial
offence so harshly, he wrathfully exclaimed, “For
more than one reason.”

Then, rising, he paced the room several times with
a somewhat limping gait, saying, in so loud a tone
that it could be distinctly heard in the dark, sultry
garden: “Because it shows little delicacy
of feeling when the man who is satiated tells the
starving one of the dainty meal which he has just
eaten; because—­because I call it shameful
for a person who can see to tell one who is blind
of the pleasure he derives from the splendid colours
of gay flowers; because I expect from the woman whom
I honour with my love more consideration for me and
what shadows my life. Because”—­and
here he raised his voice still more angrily—­“I
demand from any one united to me, the Emperor, by
whatever bond——­”

The marquise had been unable to hear more of the monarch’s
violent attack, for the messenger who had just brought
the unwelcome news—­it was Adrian Dubois—­had
not only passed her, but ventured to call to her and
remark that she would be wise to go into the house—­a
thunderstorm was rising. He was not afraid of
the rain, and would wait there for his Majesty.

Page 176

So the listener did not hear how the incensed monarch
continued with the demand that the woman he loved
should neither tell him falsehoods nor deceive him.

Until then Barbara had listened, silent and pale,
biting her trembling lips in order to adhere to her
resolve to submit without reply to whatever Charles’s
terrible irritability inflicted upon her. But
he must have noticed what was passing in her mind,
for he suddenly paused in his walk, and, abruptly
standing before her, gazed full into her face, exclaiming:
“It is not you who are offended, but I, the sovereign
whom you say you love. Day before yesterday I
forbade you to go to the musician in Red Cock Street,
yet you were with him to-day. I asked you just
now whether you had obeyed me and, with smiling lips,
you assented.”

Barbara was already prepared with an answer in harmony
with the sharpness of the attack, yet her lover’s
reproof was well founded.

When he had left the room shortly before he must have
been informed that, in defiance of his explicit command,
she had gone to the knight’s house that morning.

But no one had ever charged her with lack of courage.
Why had she not dared to confess the fault which,
from a good and certainly pardonable impulse, she
had committed?

Was she not free, or when had she placed herself under
obligation to render blind obedience to her lover?

But the falsehood!

How severely she must perhaps atone for it this time!

Yet the esteem, the love of the man to whom her heart
clung, whom she worshipped with all the fervour of
her passionate soul, might be at stake, and when he
now seized his hat to withdraw she barred his way.

Sobbing aloud, she threw herself at his feet, confessed
that she was guilty, and remorsefully admitted that
fear of his resentment, which seemed to her more terrible
than death, had induced her to deny what she had done.
She could hate herself for it. Nothing could palliate
the departure from the path of truth, but her disobedience
might perhaps appear to him in a milder light if he
learned what had induced her to commit it.

Charles, still in an angry, imperious tone, ordered
her to rise. She silently obeyed, and when he
threw himself on the divan she timidly sat down by
his side, turning toward him her troubled face, which
for the first time he saw wet with tears.

Yet a hopeful smile brightened her moist eyes, for
she felt that, since he permitted her to remain at
his side, all might yet be well.

Then she timidly took his hand and, as he permitted
it, she held it firmly while she explained what ties
had bound her to Wolf from childhood.

Page 177

She represented herself as the sisterly counsellor
of the friend who had grown up in the same house with
her. Music and the Catholic religion, in the
midst of a city which had fallen into the Protestant
heresy, had been the bond between them. After
his return home he had probably been unable to help
falling in love with her, but, so truly as she hoped
for Heaven’s mercy, she had kept her heart closed
against Cupid until he, the Emperor, had approached
in order, like that other Caesar, to come, to see,
and to conquer. But she was only a woman, and
pity in a woman’s soft heart was as hard to
silence as the murmur of a swift mountain stream or
the rushing of the wind.

Yesterday she had learned from the violinist Massi
that the knight’s condition was much more critical,
and he desired before his death to clasp her hand
again. So, believing that disobedience committed
to lighten the last hours of a dying man would be
pardonable before God and human beings, she had visited
the unfortunate Wolf.

The helpful and joy-bestowing power of good works,
which the Protestants denied, had thus become very
evident to her; for since she had clasped the sufferer’s
hand an indescribable sense of happiness had taken
possession of her, while the knight began to improve.
The news had reached her just before this, the Emperor’s,
arrival, had made her happy, and, in spite of her
evil conscience, had put her in a very cheerful mood.
But now this beautiful evening had become the saddest
one of her whole life.

Fresh tears, and the other means of conciliation inspired
by her loving heart, then induced the angry lover
to forgive her.

Barbara felt this as a great piece of good fortune,
and made every effort to curb the refractory temper
which, hitherto, had found nothing less welcome than
humble submission.

Day after day since that evening the confessor had
been informed that nothing interrupted the concord
of the lovers, and that Barbara often prayed very
fervently in the private chapel. This pleased
the almoner, and when Cassian told him that, on the
evening after the quarrel, the Emperor had again come
to the castle to remain a long time, he rejoiced.

To Barbara this visit had been a true heavenly blessing,
but though Charles showed himself sufficiently loving,
she felt, even during the succeeding visits, that
since that fateful episode something difficult to
describe or explain had rested like a gloomy shadow
on the Emperor’s joyous confidence.

This change in her lover could scarcely be due to
her, for she had honestly endeavoured to avoid everything
which could anger him.

How should she have suspected that the great student
of human nature to whom she had given her heart perceived
the restraint which she imposed upon herself in every
interview with him, and that the moderation to which
she submitted from love robbed her of a portion of
the charm her gay unconcern had exerted upon him?
Charles suspiciously attributed this change in the
disposition of the woman he loved sometimes to one
cause, sometimes to another; and when he showed her
that he missed something in her which had been dear
to him, she thought it a new token of his dissatisfaction,
and increased the restraint which she placed upon
herself.

Page 178

If the gout again attacked him or the pressure of
business, which at that time constantly made more
and more imperious demands upon the Emperor Charles,
detained him from her on one or another evening, torturing
anxiety assailed her, and she had no sleep all night.

Besides, the marquise did not cease to press her with
entreaties and expostulations, and Frau Lerch constantly
urged Barbara to profit by the favour of such a lover.
She ought to think of the future, and indemnify herself
with estates and titles for the sad fate awaiting her
if his Majesty wearied of her love.

The ex-maid knew how to describe, in vivid hues, how
all would turn from her if that should happen, and
how little the jewels with which he sometimes delighted
her would avail.

But Barbara had cared only for her lord’s love,
and it was not even difficult for her to resist the
urgency. Yet whenever she was alone with Charles,
and he showed plainly how dear she was to him, the
question forced itself upon her whether this would
not be the right time to speak of her future, and
to follow the counsel of the experienced woman who
certainly meant kindly toward her.

This made her silent and constrained for a time, and
when she saw that her manner annoyed her lover she
thrust aside the selfish impulse which was rendering
her unlovable, and sometimes showed her delight in
the victory of love over every other feeling so impetuously,
that her nature seemed to have lost the unvarying
cheerfulness which had formerly delighted him, and
he left her in a less satisfied mood.

Besides, the marquise had received a letter from Paris,
in which her son declared that if his gambling debts
were not paid by the first of August he would be completely
disgraced, and nothing would remain for him except
to end an existence which had lost all charm.
The wretched mother again opened her heart to Barbara
and, when she still resisted her lamentations and
entreaties, threw herself on her knees and sobbing
besought her to let her heart be softened.

The sight of the aged noblewoman writhing like a maniac
in the dust was so pitiful and touching that it melted
Barbara’s heart, and induced her to promise
to use the first favourable opportunity to intercede
with the Emperor in behalf of her son and his child,
a little girl of six. From that time she awaited
at every new interview the opportune moment; but when
Charles was less gracious, the right time certainly
had not come, and when he was especially loving the
happiness of possessing his heart seemed to her so
great that it appeared sinful to risk it for the sake
of a stranger.

This waiting and conflict with herself also did not
remain unnoticed, and it was characteristic of Charles
to reflect upon and seek reasons for it. Only
the spell of her voice and her beauty had remained
unchanged, and when she sang in the Golden Cross in
the presence of the guests, who became more numerous
the nearer drew the time of the opening of the Reichstag,
fixed for the fifth of June, and he perceived their
delight, vanity fanned the dying fire again, for he
still loved her, and therefore felt associated with
her and her successes.

Page 179

So the days became weeks, and though they brought
Barbara a wealth of happiness, they were not free
from gloomy and bitter hours.

The marquise, who saw her son’s doom drawing
nearer and nearer, made the mealtimes and every moment
which she spent with her a perfect hell. Frau
Lerch continued to urge her, and now advised her to
persuade the Emperor to rid her of the old tormentor.

In another matter also she was at a loss what to do.
The Wittenberg theologian, Erasmus Eckhart, found
that his own songs, when she sang them to him, seemed
entirely new, and the gratitude he felt merged into
ardent love, the first which had taken possession
of his young soul. But Barbara resolutely refused
to receive his visits, and thereby deprived him of
the possibility of opening his heart to her.
So, in despair, he wandered about her house more and
more frequently, and sent her one fiery love letter
after another.

To betray his unseemly conduct to the Emperor or to
the confessor would have brought upon him too severe
a punishment for an offence which, after all, was
the most profound homage. She dared not go to
the Hiltners, from fear of a fresh misunderstanding,
and it would be a long time ere Wolf’s health
would permit him to be excited by such matters.

So she was forced to content herself with censuring
Erasmus’s conduct, through Frau Lerch, in the
harshest manner, and threatening to appeal to his
foster-parents and, in the worst extremity, to the
magistrate, to rid herself of his importunities.
Nearly two thirds of May had passed when the Emperor
found himself prevented by a second attack of gout
from visiting her. But Barbara’s heart
drew her toward him so strongly that during the usual
noon ride she hit upon an idea, for whose execution
she immediately made preparations by secretly entreating
young Count Tassis to lend her one of his suits of
clothes.

The merry page, a handsome boy of sixteen, who had
already crossed rapiers with one of his companions
for her sake, was about her height, and delighted
to share a secret with her. His most expensive
costume, with everything belonging to it, was placed
in her room at twilight, and when night closed in,
disguised as a page, she entered the litter and was
carried to the Golden Cross, where Adrian received
her and conducted her to his royal master.

The elderly man thought he had never seen her look
so charming as in the yellow velvet doublet with ash-gray
facings, the gray silk hose, and the yellow and gray
cap resting on her glittering golden hair.

And the Emperor Charles was of the same opinion.

Besides, her lively prank transported him back to
his own youth, when he himself had glided more than
once in page’s attire to some beautiful young
lady of the court, and gaily as in better days, tenderly
as an ardent youth, he thanked her for her charming
enterprise.

After a few blissful hours, which crowded all that
she had lately suffered into oblivion, she left him.

Page 180

When she again entered the little Prebrunn castle
she would gladly have embraced the whole world.

From the litter she had noticed a light in the windows
of the marquise’s sitting-room, but she could
now look the poor old noblewoman freely in the face,
for this time, sure of experiencing no sharp rebuff,
she had found courage to speak of the son to her royal
lover.

True, as soon as Charles heard what she desired, he
kindly requested her not to sully her beautiful lips
with the name of a scoundrel who had long since forfeited
every claim to his favour, and her mission was thereby
frustrated; but she had now kept her promise.

With the entreaty to spare him in future the pain
of refusing any wish of the woman he loved, the disagreeable
affair had been dismissed.

When Barbara took the lute, he had begged the fairest
of all troubadours to sing once more, before any other
song, his beloved “Quia amore langueo,”
and the most vigorous applause was bestowed on every
one which she afterward executed.

Now she had done all that was possible for the marquise,
but no power on earth should induce her to undertake
anything of the sort a second time; She was saying
this to herself as she entered the little castle.

Let the old noblewoman come now!

She was not long in doing so. But how she looked!

The little gray curls done up in papers stood out
queerly from her narrow head. Her haggard cheeks
were destitute of rouge and lividly pale.

Her black eyes glittered strangely from their deep
sockets as if she were insane, and ragged pieces of
her morning dress, which she had torn in a fit of
helpless fury, hung down upon her breast.

The sight made Barbara shudder. She suspected
the truth.

During her absence a new message of evil had reached
the marquise.

Unless ten thousand lire could be sent to her son
at once, he would be condemned to the galleys, and
his child would be abandoned to misery and disgrace.

While speaking, the wretched mother, with trembling
hands, tore out a locket which she wore on a little
chain around her neck. It contained the angelic
face, painted on ivory by an artist’s hand, of
a fair-haired little girl. The child bore her
name, Barbara. The singer knew this. How
often the affectionate grandmother had told her with
sparkling eyes of her little “Babette”!

The father chained to the rowers’ bench among
the most abominable ruffians, this loveliest of children
perishing in hunger, misery, and shame—­what
a terrible picture! Barbara beheld it with tangible
distinctness, and while the undignified old aristocrat,
deprived of all self-control, sobbed and besought
her to have compassion, the girl who had grown up
amid poverty and care went back in memory to the days
when, to earn money for a thin soup, a bit of dry
bread, a small piece of cheap cow beef, or to protect
herself from the importunity of an unpaid tradesman,
she had washed laces with her own delicate hands and
seen her nobly born, heroic father scratch crooked
letters and scrawling ornaments upon common gray tin.

Page 181

The same fate, nay, one a thousand times worse, awaited
this wonderfully lovely patrician child, whose father
was to wield the oars in the galleys if no one interceded
for the unfortunate man.

What was life!

From the height of happiness it led her directly to
such an abyss of the deepest woe.

What contrasts!

A day, an hour had transported her from bitter poverty
and torturing yearning to the side of the highest
and greatest of monarchs, but who could tell for how
long—­how soon the fall into the gulf awaited
her?

A shudder ran through her frame, and a deep pity for
the sweet creature whose coloured likeness she held
in her hand seized upon her.

She probably remembered her lover’s refusal,
and that she only needed to allude to it to release
herself from the wailing old woman, but an invisible
power sealed her lips. She was filled with an
ardent desire to help, to avert this unutterable misery,
to bring aid to this child, devoted to destruction.

To rise above everything petty, and with the imperial
motto “More, farther,” before her eyes,
to attain a lofty height from which to look down upon
others and show her own generosity to them, had been
the longing of her life. She was still permitted
to feel herself the object of the love of the mightiest
sovereign on earth, and should she be denied performing,
by her own power, an act of deliverance to which heart
and mind urged her?

No, and again no!

She was no longer poor Wawerl!

She could and would show this, for, like an illumination,
words which she had heard the day before in the Golden
Cross had flashed into her memory.

Master Wenzel Jamnitzer, the famous Nuremberg goldsmith,
had addressed them to her in the imperial apartments,
where he had listened to her singing the day before.

He had come to consult with the Emperor Charles about
the diadems which he wished to give his two nieces,
the daughters of Ferdinand, King of the Romans, who
were to be married in July in Ratisbon. Their
manufacture had been intrusted to Master Jamnitzer,
and after the concert the Nuremberg artist had thanked
Barbara for the pleasure which he owed her. In
doing so, he had noticed the Emperor’s first
gift, the magnificent star which she wore on her breast
at the side of her squarenecked dress. Examining
it with the eye of an expert, he had remarked that
the central stone alone was worth an estate.

If she deprived herself of this superb ornament, the
despairing old mother would be consoled, and the lovely
child saved from hunger and disgrace.

With Barbara, thought, resolve, and action followed
one another in rapid succession.

“You shall have what you need to-morrow,”
she called to the marquise, kissed—­obeying
a hasty impulse—­her little namesake’s
picture, rejected any expression of thanks from the
astonished old dame, and went to rest.

Page 182

Frau Lerch had never seen her so radiant with happiness,
yet she was irritated by the reserve of the girl for
whom she thought she had sacrificed so much, yet whose
new garments had already brought her more profit than
the earnings of the three previous years.

The next morning Master Jamnitzer called the valuable
star his own, and pledged himself to keep the matter
secret, and to obtain from the Fuggers a bill of exchange
upon Paris for ten thousand lire.

The honest man sent her through the Haller banking
house a thousand ducats, that he might not be open
to the reproach of having defrauded her.

Yet the gold which she did not need for the marquise
seemed to Barbara like money unjustly obtained.
While she was riding out at noon, Frau Lerch found
it in her chest, and thought that she now knew what
had made the girl so happy the day before. She
was all the more indignant when, soon after, Barbara
gave half the new wealth to the Prebrunn town clerk
to distribute among the poor journeymen potters whose
huts had been burned down the previous night.
The rest she kept to give to the relatives of her
one-eyed maid-servant at home, who were in the direst
poverty.

For the first time she had felt the pleasure of interposing,
like a higher power, in the destiny of others.
What she had hoped from the greatness to which she
had risen now appeared on the eve of being actually
and wholly fulfilled.

Even the strange manner in which the marquise thanked
her for her generosity could but partially impair
the exquisite sense of happiness which filled her
heart.

As soon as the old noblewoman heard that the bill
of exchange for her son was on the way to Paris, she
expressed her intention of thanking his Majesty for
this noble donation.

Startled and anxious, Barbara was obliged to forbid
this, and to confess that, on the contrary, the Emperor
had refused to do anything whatever for her son, and
that morning, for little Babette’s sake, she
had used her own property.

The marquise then angrily declared that a Marquise
de Leria could accept such a favour without a blush
solely from his Majesty. Even from an equal in
station she must refuse gifts of such value. If
Barbara was honest, she would admit that she had never,
even by a syllable, asked for a donation, but always
only for her intercession with his Majesty. Her
hasty action made withdrawal impossible, but the humiliation
which she had experienced through her was so hard
to conquer that she could scarcely bring herself to
feel grateful for a gift which, in itself, was certainly
worthy of appreciation.

In fact, from that time the marquise entirely changed
her manner, and instead of flattering her ward as
before, she treated her with haughty coldness, and
sometimes remarked that poverty and hostility were
often easier to bear than intrusive kindness and humiliating
gifts.

Hitherto Barbara had placed no one under obligation
to be grateful, and therefore the ugliness of ingratitude
was unknown to her.

Page 183

Now she was to become acquainted with it.

At first this disappointment wounded her, but soon
the marquise’s intention of ridding herself,
by this conduct, of a heavy debt became apparent,
and she opposed to the base cunning a gay defence,
but was then forced to encounter the marquise’s
condemnation of it as the outgrowth of an ungenerous
soul.

How unpleasant this was! Yet she kept what she
had done for the old aristocrat and the way in which
she had requited it a secret, even from Frau Lerch,
especially as the Emperor soon alluded to his denial
of her entreaty, and gave a description of young Leria
which filled her with horror, and led to the conviction
that the sacrifice which she had made for him and
his little daughter had been utterly futile.

Little Babette, she also heard, was cared for in the
best possible manner, having been withdrawn front
her father’s influence long before and placed
in charge of an estimable, wealthy, and aristocratic
aunt, her mother’s sister, who filled the latter’s
place.

This act of charity had been utterly spoiled for the
overhasty giver, and, while the glad remembrance of
the pure delight which she had felt after her generous
resolve faded more and more, she began to be uneasy
about her reckless transaction with the Nuremberg goldsmith,
for the Emperor during his very next visit had asked
about the star, and in her confusion she had again
been forced into a falsehood, and tried to excuse
herself for so rarely wearing his beautiful present
by the pretext that the gold pin which fastened it
was bent.

She could have inflicted various punishments upon
herself for her precipitate yielding to a hastily
awakened sympathy, for it would surely anger the Emperor
if he learned how carelessly she had treated his first
costly gift.

Perhaps some hint of its sale had already reached
his ears, for, although he had made no opposition
to her apology, he afterward remained taciturn and
irritable.

Every subsequent interview with her lover was terribly
shadowed by the dread that he might think of the unlucky
ornament again.

Yet, on this occasion also, fear prevented the brave
girl from confessing the whole truth.

CHAPTER XXVI.

On St. Desiderius’s Day—­[May 23rd]—­the
Emperor again missed the star, and, as it was in the
Golden Cross and the heat was great, Barbara replied
that her dress was too thin for the heavy ornament.
But the inquiry had made her fear of additional questions
so great that she rejoiced over the news that her
lover would not visit her the next day.

On the day before yesterday Christoph Madrucci, the
Cardinal of Trent, his warlike brother Hildebrand,
and the Count of Arco had arrived, bringing news from
the Council; but on the morrow Duke Maurice of Saxony
was expected, and the most important negotiations were
to be carried on not only with him, but also with
the former, each individual being dealt with singly
and at different hours.

Page 184

In the evening the welcome guest was to be entertained
by music and, if agreeable to Barbara, by singing
also. On the twenty-fifth the city had decided
to give a May festival under the lindens in honour
of the duke. The Emperor and the whole court
were of course invited.

Barbara then acknowledged that she was fond of such
magnificent exhibitions, and begged Charles to allow
her to attend the festival with the marquise.

The answer was an assent, but the Emperor gave it
after some delay, and with the remark that he could
devote little time to her, and expected that she would
subject herself to some restraint.

True, the painful surprise which her features expressed
vividly enough led him to add the apology that, on
account of the presence of the two cardinals—­for
one had come from Augsburg—­he would be compelled
to deny himself the pleasure of showing her anything
more than courteous consideration in public; but she
could not succeed in conquering the mortification
which, besides the grief of disappointment, had taken
possession of her sensitive soul.

Charles probably perceived, by the alternate flushing
and paling of her cheeks, what was passing in her
thoughts, and would gladly have soothed her; but he
refrained, and forced himself to be content with the
few conciliatory words which he had already addressed
to her.

Great events were impending. If he decided upon
war, nothing, not even love, could be permitted to
encroach too heavily upon his time and strength; but
Barbara and the demands which her love made upon him
would surely do this if he did not early impose moderation
upon her and himself.

He had heard nothing about the sale of the star, and
whatever had displeased him in Barbara’s conduct
during the last few weeks she had succeeded in effacing.
Yet he had often been on the point of breaking off
his relations with her, for just at this time it was
of infinite importance that he should keep himself
free and strong in mind and body.

Moreover, in a few days he expected his brother Ferdinand
with his grown children. Two of his nieces were
to be married here in his presence, and he felt that
he ought not to let either them or the Cardinal of
Trent—­who was coming from the Council and
would return there—­see how strong were
the fetters with which, at his age and just at this
time, he allowed himself to be bound by love for a
beautiful singer.

The wisdom which had long been characteristic of him
commanded him to sever abruptly the connection with
the woman he loved and remove her from his path.
But the demands of the heart and the senses were too
powerful for the man who indulged to excess in fiery
wine and spiced foods, though he knew that greater
abstinence would have spared him torturing pangs.

Page 185

He had succeeded hundreds of times in obtaining the
victory over other urgent wishes, and conquering strong
affections. But this was different, for separation
from Barbara must, at any rate, destroy the exquisite
late happiness of the newly unfolded enjoyment of
life, and for this heavy loss he saw no compensation.
To part from her entirely, therefore, seemed to him
impossible—­at any rate, for the present.
On the other hand, the duty of the sovereign and consideration
for his relatives both commanded him to restrict the
demands of her passionate young heart and his own,
which had so recently awaked from slumber.

He had recognised this necessity, and considered the
pros and cons precisely as if the matter were a political
question. He who, without the quiver of an eyelash,
had sent many a band of soldiers to certain death
in order to execute a well-conceived plan of battle,
was compelled to inflict keen suffering upon the woman
he loved and himself, that greater interests might
not be injured.

He had commenced the retreat that day.

The constraint which it was necessary to impose upon
themselves must be equally painful to them both, yet
this could not be altered.

Had it affected him alone, in defiance of his sense
of rank and the tyranny of court etiquette, he would
have led Barbara, attired like a true queen, with
his own hand to the festival under the lindens, but
the gratification of this heartfelt wish would have
entailed too many evil consequences.

Toying with her, who so quickly understood and so
gratefully accepted the gifts of the intellect which
he offered, was so sweet, but in these days it must
not be permitted to impair mental repose, keen thought.
What he had to discuss and settle with Maurice of
Saxony and Cardinal Madrucci was of too momentous
importance to the destiny of the world, to the Church,
to his fame as a sovereign, to his own greatness and
that of his race.

He would have liked best to send Barbara away from
Ratisbon, as he had despatched her father three weeks
before, and not recall her until these decisive days
were over; but this was prohibited by his ardent desire
for her presence, her clever questions and appreciative
listening, and, above all, her singing, which he valued
perhaps even more than her beauty.

Had he confided to Barbara the important reasons which
compelled him to impose restrictions for a short time
upon the demands of his heart, she, who esteemed his
grandeur little less than his love, would have cheerfully
submitted to what was necessary and right; but truthfulness
and frankness were far more characteristic of her nature
than of that of the politician who was accustomed
to the tricks and evasions of the time of Machiavelli.
He never lacked credible reasons when he desired to
place an intention in a favourable light, and where
he wished to keep Barbara away from him, during the
next few days, such were certainly to be found in
each individual instance. Suppose the woman he
loved did not accept them? So much the worse
for her; he was the Emperor.

Page 186

As for Barbara, with the subtle power of presentiment
of a loving heart she felt that his passion was waning,
and tortured her mobile intellect to discover the
right cause.

If the luckless star was connected with it, why had
he not blamed her openly?

No, no!

Adrian had already predicted it; his constancy could
not be relied upon, and if war was in prospect he
forgot everything that was usually dear to his heart,
and the appearance of the Duke of Saxony certainly
seemed to indicate an outbreak. Many an intimation
of the Emperor, Granvelle, and the almoner seemed
to suggest this, and, deeply troubled, she went to
rest.

During the silent night her worst fears became certainty.

She recalled to mind every hour which they had spent
alone together. Some change had certainly taken
place in him of late.

During her visit as a page the passion of former days
had once more glowed hotly, as the fire on the hearth
blazes up brightly before it expires.

The alteration had begun with the reproaches for her
visit to the suffering Wolf. Now he was aiming
to rid himself of her, though with a considerate hand.
And she, what could she do to win back the man who
held every fixed resolve as firmly as the rocks of
the cliff hold the pine which grows from them?

Nothing, except to bear patiently whatever he inflicted
upon her.

This, however, seemed to her so impossible and painful,
so humiliating and shocking, that she sprang from
her bed and for a long time paced with bare feet the
sleeping-room, which was but dimly lighted by the lamp.
Yet all her thoughts and pondering were futile, and
when she lay down again she slept until mass.

By daylight she found that she had regarded matters
in far too dark a light. True, Charles probably
no longer loved her as ardently as before, yet she
need scarcely fear the worst at present. But the
bare thought of having so soon lost the power to bind
him to her aroused a storm of feeling in her passionate
soul, and when it subsided bitter thoughts followed,
and a series of plans which, on closer examination,
proved impracticable.

The day dragged slowly along.

During the ride in the country she was so depressed
and downcast that her companions asked what troubled
her.

The lonely evening seemed endless. A short letter
from her father, which informed her that he had not
expected too much of himself, and was in good health,
she cast aside after reading. During the night
the feeling of unhappiness and apprehension increased.
But the next morning the sun shone brightly into her
windows, and after mass a messenger from the Golden
Cross announced that Duke Maurice of Saxony had arrived,
and in the afternoon his Majesty wished to see her
and hear her sing.

This news cheered her wonderfully; but while Fran
Lerch was dressing her she, too, missed the star,
and it seemed to Barbara that with it she had lost
a portion of her charm.

Page 187

In going out, the marquise met her in the corridor,
but Barbara passed without returning her greeting.

When she arrived, the company had assembled in the
chapel. The Duke of Saxony sat between the Emperor
and Granvelle.

What a handsome, knightly man this Maurice was!
A prince from head to foot, young, and yet, while
talking with the Emperor and Granvelle, grave and
self-possessed as if he felt himself their peer.

And what fire glowed in his bright glance whenever
it rested upon her!

In the chase and over the wine-cup this brave soldier
and subtle statesman was said scarcely to have his
equal. Many tales of his successes with fair
women had been told her. He pleased her, too,
in spite of the bold, free manner in which he gazed
at her, and which she would not have tolerated in
any one else.

After she had finished the last song, the duke expressed
his appreciation in gay, flattering words, at the
same time complimenting her beauty.

There had been something remarkably winning in his
compliments; but when she pleased her imperial lover,
the acknowledgment was very different. Then there
was no mere praise clad in the form of enthusiastic
homage, but in addition always acute remarks.
With the recognition blended opinions which revealed
the true connoisseur.

This Maurice was certainly wise and brave, and, moreover,
far handsomer than his imperial master; but what illumined
Charles’s prominent brow and brilliant eyes
she had never beheld in any one else. To him,
to him alone her heart belonged, worthy of esteem
as the duke, who was so much his junior, appeared.

While taking leave the Saxon held her hand in his
for a time and, as she permitted it, she met a glance
from her lover which warned her to be ware of incautious
familiarity with this breaker of hearts.

Barbara felt as if a sudden brightness had filled
her soul, and on her way home the seed which that
look had cast into it began to put forth vigorous
shoots.

The ardent young Saxon duke would have been a dangerous
rival for any one, even the handsomest and most powerful
of men. Suppose that she should profit by the
wish he showed so plainly, and through jealousy bind
the man whom she loved anew and more firmly than ever?

She probably admitted to herself that in doing so
she would incur a great risk, but it seemed easier
to lose her greatest treasure entirely than only to
half possess it; and when she had once looked this
thought in the face it attracted her, as with the
gaze of a basilisk, more and more strongly.

The afternoon of the following day, with the marquise,
she entered the scene of festivity under the lindens.

To punish Barbara for not returning her greeting,
the gray-haired lady in waiting had at first been
inclined to excuse herself on the plea of illness;
but the taste for amusement with which her nature was
still pervaded, as well as curiosity to see the much-discussed
Duke Maurice, and the desire to watch Barbara’s
conduct, drew her to the place where the festival
was held.

Page 188

Ratisbon had done her best to receive this guest,
whom she especially desired to honour, with all possible
magnificence. Flags and streamers bearing the
colours of the empire, with the Burgundian red and
gold of the Emperor, the silver-crossed keys on a
red field of the city of Ratisbon, and with the Saxon
coats of arms, rose amid the leafy tops of the lindens,
and floated from tall poles in the sunny May air.
The blue and yellow Saxon flag, with the black and
yellow chevron in the field and a lozenged chaplet
from the left corner to the top, was more frequently
seen than any other banner.

Even though this festival was held for Duke Maurice,
no one could fail to notice how much more space was
given to his escutcheon than to the Emperor’s.

The entertainment had opened at noon with a tournament
and riding at the ring. The duke had participated
in the sport a short time, and carried off several
rings on his sword while in full career.

The Emperor had held aloof from this game, in which
he had formerly joined gladly and with much skill,
but, on the other hand, he had promised to appear
at the festival under the lindens, which was to last
until night. The Council had had a magnificent
tent erected for him, Duke Maurice, and the court,
and in order to ornament the interior suitably had
allowed the use of the beautiful tapestries in the
town hall. These represented familiar incidents
from famous love tales: Tristan and Isolde seeing
the face of King Mark in the mirror of the spring,
Frau Venus as, surrounded by her court, she receives
Tannhauser in the Horselberg, and similar scenes.
Other art textiles showed incidents in the lives of
forest people—­little men and women in striped
linen garments, wonderful trees and birds such as
no human eye ever beheld—­but above the hangings
a row of coats of arms again appeared, in which the
imperial escutcheon alternated with the Saxon.

The front of the tent, covered with red and white
material, stood open, permitting the guests who did
not belong to the court to survey the interior.

Artistic platters, large dishes, in which dainty sweets
and fruits were gracefully heaped and the cathedral
of Ratisbon and other devices stood, the costly silverware
of the city, and many beautifully formed wine flagons
attracted the gaze. Beside these were dishes of
roast meats, fish, and cakes for the illustrious guests.

Stewards and guards of the Council, clad in red and
white, with the crossed keys in silver embroidery
on the shoulder, offered refreshments. Two superb
thrones stood ready for the Emperor and the duke, easy-chairs
for the cardinals, princes, and counts, stools for
the barons, knights, and ladies.

Opposite to the tent stands were erected for the Council,
the patrician families, and the other ladies and gentlemen
whom the city had invited to the festival. In
their midst rose a large, richly decorated stage for
the Emperor’s orchestra, which, with his Majesty’s
permission, had been induced to play a few pieces,
and by the side of the stands was a towerlike structure,
from whose summit the city pipers of Ratisbon, joined
by those of Landshut, were to be heard.

Page 189

A large, round stage, encircled by a fence of young
birch logs, had been built for dancing amid the leafy
lindens, and stood directly opposite to the imperial
tent. Near the linden-shaded square at the shooting
house were posted the cannon and howitzers, which
were to receive the distinguished guests with loud
volleys and lend fresh animation to the festival.

The Lindenplatz belonged to the same suburb of Prebrunn
in which stood the little castle of the Prince Abbot
of Berchtesgaden, which Barbara occupied. So,
during the short distance which she and the marquise
had to traverse in litters, uproar, music, and the
thunder of artillery greeted them.

This exerted an intoxicating influence upon Barbara,
who had been so long absent from such scenes.
At home she had abandoned her intention of arousing
the Emperor’s jealousy; now her excited nerves
urged her to execute it. The advantage she hoped
to derive was well worth the risk. But if the
bold game failed, and the proud, sensitive monarch
should be seriously angry——­

Just then shots crashed again, music and shouts echoed
more loudly in her ears.

“A Blomberg does not fear,” and with newly
awakened defiance she closed her ears to the warning
voice.

The festival was commencing.

She, too, would be gay for once, and if she was cautious
the bold enterprise must succeed. A merry evening
awaited her and, if all went well, on the morrow,
after a few unpleasant hours, her lover’s whole
heart would once more be hers.

When she reached the scene of festivity it was already
thronged with richly attired princes and counts, knights
and ladies, citizens of Ratisbon, as well as nobles
and distinguished townspeople from the neighbouring
castles, citadels, and cities.

Music and a loud medley of shouts and conversation
greeted her at her entrance. Her heart throbbed
quickly, for she did not forget her daring purpose,
and a throng of memories of modest but more carefree
days rushed upon her.

Here, when a little girl, she had attended the May
festival Virgatum—­which owed its name to
the green rods or twigs with which the school children
adorned themselves—­and played under yonder
lindens with Wolf, with the wilder Erasmus, and other
boys. How delightful it had been!—­and
when the enlarged band of city pipers struck up a gavotte
her feet unconsciously kept time, and she could not
help thinking of the last dance in the New Scales,
the recruiting officer who had guided her so firmly
and skilfully in the Schwabeln, and through him of
her father, of whom she had not thought again since
the good news received two evenings before.

She still stood at the crowded entrance gazing around
her.

The interior of the imperial tent could not be seen
from here, but she could overlook the stand of the
noble families, and there she saw her cousins Anne
Mirl and Nandl Woller, with Martina Hiltner beside
them.

Page 190

She had refused to receive all three in her little
castle at Prebrunn; the true reason she alone knew.
Her excuse had perhaps appeared to the girls trivial
and unkind.

Now her glance met Nandl’s, and her warmhearted
friend beckoned eagerly to her; but her mother drew
her arm down, and it was evident that the corpulent
lady said something reproving.

Barbara looked away from the stand, and the question
where her place was here suddenly disturbed her.

She had received no invitation from the Council of
the city, and perhaps she would have been refused
admittance to the stand. She did not know whether
before the Emperor’s arrival she would be received
in the court tent, which Cardinal Madrucci of Trent,
in superb scarlet robes, was just approaching, and
an oppressive anxiety again subdued the courage which
had just resolved on the boldest venture.

At that moment Baron Malfalconnet saw her, and instantly
approached. Gaily offering one arm to her and
the other to the marquise, he escorted both to the
tent, whispering meanwhile in Barbara’s ear,
“Glowing summer, between spring and winter,”
and, as soon as he had taken them to the buffet, off
he hurried again to offer his arm to the Margravine
of Leuchtenberg, who was followed by two charming
daughters, with pretty pages bearing their trains.

How the gold, jewels, and shining armour in the tent
glittered! How the crimson glowed, the plumes
waved, the heavy velvet attracted the eye by rich
hues, the light laces by their delicate fineness!
How the silk rustled, and one superb piece of fur
vied with the other in costliness, the white with
the red rose in beauty!

Barbara involuntarily looked at her sea-green brocade,
and felt its heavy texture and the softness of the
fur trimming on the overdress, which at home she had
called a masterpiece of Frau Lerch’s work.
She could be satisfied with her appearance, and the
string of pearls on her neck and the bracelet which
her lover had sent to her, after her visit in the
page’s costume, were also costly ornaments.
The magnificent star was missing; in its place she
wore at the square-cut neck of her dress two beautiful
halfblown roses, and her mirror had showed her how
becoming they were.

She did not need gold or gems. What gave her
power to subdue the hearts of men was of higher value.

Yet, when she mingled among the other dignitaries,
she felt like an intruder in this circle.

The marquise had left her, and joined those of her
own rank. Most of the ladies were strangers to
Barbara, and she was avoided by those whom she knew;
but, to make amends, she was soon surrounded by many
aristocratic gentlemen, and her mobile nature speedily
made her forget what had just depressed her joyous
spirit.

Then the cannon and culverins thundered louder, the
blare of trumpets rent the air with deafening shrillness,
the ringing of bells in all the steeples of Ratisbon,
the exulting shouts of the crowd upon the stands and
in the whole Lindenplatz poured in mighty waves of
sound into the tent, where the nobles and aristocratic
ladies around Barbara now raised their voices also.

Page 191

With a throbbing heart she mingled her cheers with
those of the others and, like them, waved her handkerchief
and her fan.

The man whom she loved was approaching! This
crashing and echoing, this wild uproar of enthusiastic
shouts and cries, this flutter of flags and waving
of handkerchiefs were all in his honour and, stirred
to her inmost soul by impetuous enthusiasm and ardent
gratitude, her eyes grew dim with tears, and she joined
far more loudly and freely in the cheers of the multitude
than the aristocrats around her, to whom court etiquette
dictated reserve on all occasions, even this one.

The loving woman saw nothing save the man who was
advancing. How should she have noticed the scornful
glances which her unrestrained vivacity elicited?

Her gaze was fixed solely upon the one sun to which
the little stars around her owed their paler or brighter
radiance. She scarcely noticed even the handsome
young prince at Charles’s side. Yet Duke
Maurice would have been well worthy of her whole attention,
for with what a free, proud step he advanced, while
his imperial master used his arm as a support!

Charles also looked magnificent in the Castilian court
costume, with the chain of the Grand Master of the
Golden Fleece about his neck; but the young Saxon
duke was considerably his superior in height, and the
silver-embroidered, steel-gray suit of Spanish cut
and the black velvet mantle trimmed with a border
of marten fur, were extremely becoming. Both
saluted the crowd that welcomed them so warmly and
loudly, gazing meanwhile at the festal scene, the
Emperor with haughty, almost indifferent dignity,
the duke with less reserve and more eager gestures.

Barbara knew the sovereign, and when she saw him thrust
his lower lip slightly forward she was sure that something
vexed him.

Perhaps she ought not to venture to irritate the lion
that day.

Was his anger roused by the boldness of the city magistrates,
who dared to favour the Saxon escutcheon and banners
so openly? It seemed to her exasperating, punishable
insolence. But perhaps in his greatness he did
not grudge this distinction to a guest so much his
inferior, and it was only the gout again inflicting
its pangs upon his poor tortured foot.

The way was strewn with leaves and green branches,
and the Saxon was leading her lord directly over the
hard little boughs in the middle of the path.
Barbara would fain have called to him to look at the
ground and not up at the banners and escutcheons bearing
his colours, whose number seemed to flatter him.
Had Charles been leaning on her arm, she would have
performed the office of guide better.

At last the distinguished pair, with the companions
who followed them, reached the tent and took their
seats upon the thrones. Again Maurice gazed eagerly
around him, but Charles vouchsafed the Lindenplatz
and stands only a few careless glances. He had
no time to do more, for the young Landgravines of
Leuchtenber; and several other newcomers at court
were presented to him by the Count of Nassau, and,
after greeting the occupants of the tent by a gracious
gesture, the monarch addressed a few kind words to
each.

Page 192

Barbara was obliged to content herself with the others,
yet her heart ached secretly that he gave her no word
of welcome.

Then, when the performances began and the chamberlains
and major-domo seated the aristocratic ladies and
older dignitaries according to their sex and rank,
and she was thus placed very far in the rear, she felt
it as a grievous injustice. Was she no longer
the love of the man who reigned over everything here?
And since no one could deny this claim, why need she
be satisfied with a place beside the insignificant
ladies of honour of the princelings who were present?

How forsaken and ill-treated she seemed to herself!

But there was Don Luis Quijada already making his
way to her to bring a greeting from his Majesty and
escort her to a place from which she could have a
better view of what the city had arranged for the entertainment
of the distinguished guest.

So she was not wholly forgotten by her lover, but
with what scanty alms he fed her!

What did she care for the exhibition which was about
to begin?

The minutes dragged on at a snail’s pace while
the lanterns on the lindens and poles, the torches,
and pitch pans were lighted.

Had not the gentlemen and ladies been so completely
separated, it might perhaps have been a little gay.
But, as it was, no one of the aristocratic women who
surrounded her granted her even one poor word; but
the number of glances, open and secret, cast at her
became all the greater as one noble dame whispered
to another that she was the singer whom his Majesty
condescended to distinguish in so remarkable a manner.

To know that she was thus watched might be endured,
as she was aware that she could be satisfied with
her appearance, but vanity compelled her to assume
an expression and bearing which would not disappoint
the gazers, and after the performances began this
imposed a wearisome restraint.

Once only was her solitude in the midst of this great
company pleasantly interrupted, for the Bishop of
Arras, without troubling himself about the separation
of the sexes, had sought her out and whispered that
he had something to ask of her, whose details they
would discuss later. On the evening of the day
after to-morrow his Majesty’s most distinguished
guests, with their ladies, were to assemble at his
house. If she desired to place him under the
deepest obligations, she would join them there and
adorn the festival with her singing. Barbara asked
in a low tone whether the Emperor would also be present,
and the statesman, smiling, answered that court etiquette
prohibited such things. Yet it was not impossible
that, as a special favour, his Majesty might listen
for a short time in the festal hall, only he feared
that the gout might interpose—­the evil
guest was already giving slight warnings of its approach.

Page 193

Then, without waiting for a reply, the young minister
went back to his royal master; but his invitation
exerted a disturbing influence upon Barbara.
She would have been more than glad to accept, for the
entertainments of the Bishop of Arras were unequalled
in varied attractions, magnificence, and gaiety, and
what a satisfaction to her ambition it would be to
sing before such an audience, dine at the same table
with such ladies and gentlemen! She knew also
how heavily this man’s favour would weigh in
the scales with the Emperor, yet to appear at the
banquet without her lover’s knowledge was utterly
impossible, and just now she felt reluctant to ask
his permission. What heavy chains loaded the
favoured woman who possessed the love of this greatest
of sovereigns!

However, reflections concerning Granvelle’s
invitation passed away the time until the lighting
of the Lindenplatz was completed. Then the shrill
blare of trumpets again rent the air, the city pipers
in the towers struck up a gay march, and the entertainment
began.

The gods of Olympus, led by Fame and Fortune, offered
their homage to the Emperor. A youth from the
school of poets, attired as the goddess of Fame, bewailed
in well-rhymed verses that for a long time no one had
given her so much to do as the Emperor Charles.
His comrade, who, bearing a cornucopia in his arms,
represented Fortune, assured her companion, in still
more bombastic verse, that she should certainly expect
far more from her, the goddess of Fame, in favour
of his Majesty. This would continue until her
own end and that of all the Olympians, because the
Emperor Charles himself was an immortal. He had
made them both subject to him. Fortune as well
as Fame must obey his sign. But there was another
younger friend of the gods for whom, on account of
the shortness of his life, they had been able to do
less, but for whom they also held in readiness their
best and greatest gifts. He, too, would succeed
in rendering them his subjects. While speaking,
Fortune pointed with the cornucopia and Fame with
the trumpet to Duke Maurice, and besought their indulgent
lord and master, the Emperor Charles, to be permitted
to show some of their young favourite’s possessions,
by whose means he, too, would succeed in retaining
them in his service.

Then Pallas Athene appeared with the university city
of Leipsic, the latter laden with all sorts of symbols
of knowledge. Next came Plutus, the god of Wealth,
followed by Freiberg miners bearing large specimens
of silver ore in buckets and baskets; and, lastly,
Mars, the god of War, leading by a long chain two
camels on which rode captive and fettered Turks.

During these spectacles, which were followed by other
similar ones, Barbara had been thinking of her own
affairs, and gazed more frequently at her lover and
his distinguished guests than at the former.

But the next group interested her more because it
seemed to honour the Emperor’s taste for astronomy,
of which he had often talked with her.

Page 194

On a long cart, drawn by powerful stallions, appeared
a gigantic firmament in the shape of a hemisphere,
on whose upper surface the sun, moon, and stars were
seen shining in radiant light. The moon passed
through all her changes, the sun and planets moved,
and from the dome echoed songs and lute-playing, which
were intended to represent the music of the spheres.
Another chorus was heard from a basket of flowers of
stupendous size. Among the natural and artificial
blossoms sat and lay upon leaves and in the calyxes
of the flowers child genii, who flung to the Emperor
beautiful bouquets, and into the laps and at the feet
of the ladies in the tent smaller ones and single
flowers.

Barbara, too, did not go with empty hands. The
Cupid who had thrown his to her was the little Maltese
Hannibal, who sang with other boys as “Voices
of the Flowers,” and later was to take part in
the great chorus.

This friendly remembrance of her young fellow-artist
cheered Barbara, and when a fight began, which was
carried on by a dozen trained champions brought from
Strasburg expressly for this purpose, she turned her
attention to it.

At first this dealing blows at one another with blunt
weapons offered her little amusement; but when shouts
from the tent and the stands cheered the men from
the Mark, and powerful blows incensed to fury those
who were struck, the scene began to enthral her.

A handsome, agile youth, to her sincere regret, had
just fallen, but swiftly recovered his elasticity,
and, springing to his feet, belaboured his opponent,
a clumsy giant, so skilfully and vigorously that the
bright blood streamed down his ugly face and big body.
Barbara’s cheeks flushed with sympathy.
That was right. Skill and grace ought everywhere
to conquer hideous rude force.

If she had been a man she would have found her greatest
happiness, as her father did, in battle, in measuring
her own strength with another’s. Now she
was obliged to defend herself with other weapons than
blunt swords, and when she saw the champions, six
against six, again rush upon one another, and one
side drive the other back, her vivid imagination transported
her into the midst of the victors, and it seemed as
if the marquise and the whole throng of arrogant dames
in the tent, as well as the Ratisbon women on the
stands who had insulted her by their haughty airs
of virtue, were fleeing from her presence.

How repulsive these envious, hypocritical people were!
How she hated everything that threatened to estrange
her lover’s heart! To them also belonged
the scoundrel who, she supposed, had betrayed the sale
of the star to the Emperor. She resolved to confess
to Charles how she had been led to commit this offence,
which was indeed hard to forgive. Perhaps all
would then be well again, for in this unfortunate action
she could recognise the sole wrong which she had ever
inflicted upon her lover. She could not help
attributing his humiliating manner to it alone, for
her love had always remained the same, and only yesterday,
after she had sung before the Duke of Saxony, Appenzelder,
who never flattered, had assured her that her voice
had gained in power, her expression in depth, and she
herself felt that it was so.

Page 195

Music was still the firmest bond that united her to
her lover. So long as her art remained faithful,
he could not abandon her. This conviction was
transformed into certainty when the final performance
began, and the Ratisbon choir, under the direction
of Damian Feys, commenced the mighty hymn with which
the composer, Jean Courtois, had greeted the Emperor
Charles in Cambray:

“Venite populi terrai”—­“Come
hither, ye nations of the earth”—­this
motet for four voices called imperiously to all mankind
like a joyous summons.

“Ave Cesar, ave majestas sacra,” sounded
in solemn, religious tones the greeting to the greatest
of monarchs. It seemed to transport the listener
to the summit of the cathedral, as the choir now called
to the ruler that the earth was full of his renown.
The Ratisbon singers and the able Feys did their best,
and this mighty act of homage of all the nations of
the earth by no means failed to produce its effect
upon him to whom it was addressed.

While Barbara listened, deeply agitated, she did not
avert her eyes from her lover’s face, which
was brightly illumined by a pyramid of candles on
each side of the two thrones.

Every trace of weariness, indifference, and discomfort
had vanished from Charles’s features. His
heart, like hers—­she knew it—­was
now throbbing higher. If he had just been enduring
pain, this singing must have driven it away or lessened
it, and he had certainly felt gratefully what power
dwells in the divine art.

This noble composition, Barbara realized it, would
again draw her near her lover, and the confirmation
of this hope was not delayed, for as soon as the last
notes of the motet and the storm of applause that followed
had died away, the Emperor, amid the renewed roar of
the artillery, rose and looked around him—­surely
for her.

The good citizens of Ratisbon! No matter how
much more bunting they had cut up in honour of the
Saxon duke than of the Emperor, how bombastic were
the verses composed and repeated in praise of Maurice,
this paean of homage put all their efforts to shame.
It suited only one, lauded a grandeur and dignity
which stood firm as indestructible cliffs, and which
no one here possessed save the Emperor Charles.

Who would have ventured to apply this motet to the
brave and clever Saxon, high as he, too, towered above
most of his peers? What did the nations of the
earth know about him? How small was the world
still that was full of his renown!

This singing had reminded both princes of Barbara,
and they looked for her. The Emperor perceived
her first, beckoned kindly to her, and, after conversing
with her for a while so graciously that it aroused
the envy of the other ladies in the tent, he said
eagerly: “Not sung amiss for your Ratisbon,
I should think. But how this superb composition
was sung six years ago at Catnbray, under the direction
of Courtois himself!—­that, yes, that is
one of the things never to be forgotten. Thirty-four
singers, and what power, what precision, and, moreover,
the great charm of novelty! I have certainly
been permitted to hear many things——­”

Page 196

Here he paused; the Cardinal of Trent was approaching
with the Bishop of Arras.

The younger Granvelle, with his father, had also been
present at the performance of this motet of homage
at Cambray, and respectfully confirmed his Majesty’s
remark, speaking with special warmth of the fervour
and delicacy with which Jean Courtois had conducted
the choir.

The cardinal had no wish to detract from the merits
of the Netherland maestro, but he called the Emperor’s
attention to young Orlando di Lasso, the leader of
the orchestra in the Lateran at Rome, who, in his opinion,
was destined as a composer and conductor to cast into
the shade all the musicians of his time. He was
born in Hennegau. The goddess of Music continued
to honour the Netherlands with her special favour.

During this conversation Barbara had stepped modestly
aside. Charles glanced toward her several times
to address her again, but when the Bishop of Arras
whispered that, before the commencement of the festival,
the cardinal had received despatches from the Council
and from Rome, he motioned to both prelates to follow
him, and, paying no further heed to Barbara—­nay,
without even vouchsafing her a farewell wave of the
hand—­conducted them to the rear of the tent.

Again the girl’s heart ached in her abandonment.
Duke Maurice, too, had vanished. When he saw
the Emperor address her he had left the tent.

Dancing had begun, and he was now accepting the invitation
of the magistrate Ambrosius Ammann to inaugurate the
young people’s pleasure as leader of the Polish
dance.

For a time Barbara stood as if spellbound to the spot
where her lover had so suddenly turned away from her.

She was again experiencing what Adrian had predicted—­politics
made Charles forget everything else, even love.
How would it be when war actually came?

Now, after the Emperor had showed her that he still
deemed her worthy of regard, she felt for the first
time thoroughly neglected, and with difficulty restrained
her tears. She would have liked to follow Charles,
and at every peril whisper softly, so that he alone
could hear, yet with all the sharpness of her resentment,
that it was unchivalrous to leave her standing here
like an outcast, and that she demanded to learn why
she had forfeited his love.

The wild throbbing of her heart impeded her breathing,
and, in the indignation of her soul, she longed to
escape fresh humiliation and to leave the festival.

But again Baron Malfalconnet appeared as a preserver
in the hour of need, and, with the profound submissiveness
bordering upon mockery which he always showed her,
asked why she had so speedily deprived his Majesty
of the pleasure of her society. Barbara gave
way to her wrath and, while vehemently forbidding
the unseemly jibe, glanced with a bitter smile toward
the Emperor, who, in conversation with the two dignitaries,
seemed to have forgotten everything around him.

Page 197

“The destiny of the world,” observed the
baron, “can not be set to dance music.
The domain of your obedient admirer, Malfalconnet,
on the contrary, obeys solely the heart throbs in
this loyal breast; and if you, fairest of women, will
allow yourself to be satisfied with so small a realm
of sovereignty, it is at your disposal, together with
these tolerably agile feet, which still wait in vain
for the well-merited imperial gout.”

The sharp refusal which this proposition received
amused the baron instead of offending him, and passing
into a more conversational tone, he proposed to her
to leave this abode of ennui, where even the poor satyrs
on the hangings were holding their big hands over their
mouths to hide their yawns, and go with him to the
dancing floor.

Barbara laid her hand on his arm and followed him
to the pleasure ground under the lindens, where the
pretty daughters of the Ratisbon noble families had
just commenced a dance with the gentlemen belonging
to their circle.

Barbara had gone to school, exchanged kisses, and
was a relative or friend of most of these young girls
in light gala dresses, adorned with coloured flowers,
whose names Malfalconnet asked, yet, after an interval
of these few weeks, she met them like a stranger.

The love which united her to the Emperor had raised
her far above them.

Accustomed to give herself up entirely to the gifts
which the present offered, she had turned her back
on Ratisbon and its inhabitants, with whom, during
this period of happiness she could easily dispense,
as if they were a forgotten world. There was
no one in her native city whom she seriously missed
or to whom she was strongly drawn. That she, too,
offered these people little, and was of small importance,
self-love had never permitted her to realize, and
therefore she felt an emotion of painful surprise
when she perceived the deep gulf which separated her
from her fellow-citizens of both sexes.

Now her old friends and acquaintances showed her plainly
enough how little they cared for her withdrawal.

Pretty Elspet Zohrer, with whom she had contended
for the recruiting officer, Pyramus Kogel, was standing
opposite to her, by her partner’s side, in the
same row with charming little Mietz Schiltl, Anne Mirl
Woller, her cousin, Marg Thun, and the others.

The Zauner, which they were dancing with a solemn
dignity that aroused the baron’s mirth, afforded
them an opportunity to look around them, and they
eagerly availed themselves of it; nay, they almost
all glanced at Barbara, and then, with evident intention,
away from her, after Elspet Zohrer, with a contemptuous
elevation of her dainty little snub nose, had ignored
her schoolmate’s greeting.

Barbara drew herself up, and the air of unapproachable
dignity which she assumed well suited the aristocratic
gentleman at her side, whom every one knew as the
most brilliant, witty, and extravagant noble at the
Emperor’s court. At the same time she addressed
the baron, whom she had hitherto kept at a distance,
with unconstrained familiarity, and as the eyes of
the mothers also rested upon her, remarks which might
have driven the blood to her cheeks were made upon
the intimate terms existing between the “Emperor’s
sweetheart” and the profligate and spendthrift
Malfalconnet.

Page 198

True, Barbara could not understand what they were
saying, but it was easy enough to perceive in what
way they were talking about her.

Yet what gave these women the right to condemn her?

They bore her a grudge because she had distinguished
herself by her art, while their little geese were
idle at home or, at most, busied themselves in the
kitchen, at the spinning wheel, in dancing, and whatever
was connected with it while waiting for their future
husbands. The favour which the most illustrious
of mortals showed her they imputed to her as a crime.

How could they know that she was more to the Emperor
than the artist whose singing enraptured him?

The girls yonder—­her Woller cousins certainly—­merely
held aloof because their mothers commanded them to
do it. Only in the case of a few need she fear
that jealousy and envy had taken possession of them.
Yet what did she care for them and their behaviour?
She looked over their heads with the air of a queen.

But what was the meaning of this?

As soon as the dance was over, a pretty young girl,
scarcely seventeen years old, with blue forget-me-nots
in her fair hair and on her breast, left her partner
and came directly toward Barbara.

Her head drooped and she hesitated shyly as she did
so, but her modest timidity was so charming that the
dissolute courtier at Barbara’s side felt a
throb of sympathy, and gazed down at her like a benevolent
fatherly friend as she held out her hand to his companion.

He did not think Martina Hiltner actually beautiful
as she stood close before him, but, on the other hand,
inexpressibly charming in her modest grace.

That it was she who came to Barbara so confidingly
increased his good opinion of the self-reliant, hot-blooded
girl who had won the Emperor’s love, and therefore
he was deeply angered when the latter answered Martina’s
greeting curtly and coldly, and, without vouchsafing
her any further words, requested him to summon one
of the attendants who were serving refreshments.

Malfalconnet glanced significantly toward Martina,
and, while offering Barbara a goblet of lemonade,
said, “There is candied lemon and other seasoning
in it, so it will probably suit your taste, exacting
beauty, since you appear to dislike what is pure.”

“Only when poison is mixed with it,” she
answered quickly, tossing her head arrogantly.
Then, controlling herself, she added in an explanatory
tone: “In this case, Baron, your far-famed
penetration deceived you. It gave me more pain
than you will believe to reject the friendly advances
of this lovely child, but her father is the head of
the Lutheran heresy here, and the almoner——­”

“Then that certainly alters the case,”
the other interrupted. “Where the Holy
Inquisition threatens, I should be capable of denying
a friend thrice ere the cock crew. But what a
number of charming young faces there are on this Lindenplatz!
Here one can understand why Ratisbon, like the French
Arles, is famed for the beauty of her daughters.
It was not easy for you to earn the reputation of
the greatest beauty here. You have also gained
that of the most cruel one. You make me feel it.
But if you wish to cast into oblivion the poisoned
cup proffered just now, do me the favour to trust
yourself to my guidance in the next dance.”

Page 199

“Impossible,” answered Barbara firmly.
“If I were really cruel, I would yield to your
skill in tempting, and render you the base betrayer
of the greatest and noblest of masters.”

“Does not every one who gazes at your beauty
or listens to your song become such a monster, at
least in thought?” asked the baron gaily.
“Are you really so inexorable about the dance?”

“As this statue,” Barbara answered with
mirthful resolution, pointing to a plaster figure
which was intended to represent the goddess Flora or
the month of May. “But let us stay here
a few minutes longer, though only as spectators.”

Barbara expressed this wish because a group of young
gentlemen, who had always been among those who sought
her most eagerly for a partner at the dances in the
New Scales, had attracted her attention. They
were engaged in an animated discussion, which from
their glances and gestures evidently concerned Barbara.

Bernhard Trainer, the tall son of an old and wealthy
family, who loved Martina Hiltner, and had been incensed
by Barbara’s treatment of her, seemed to gain
his point, and when the city pipers began to play again,
all of them—­probably a dozen in number—­passed
by her arm-in-arm in couples, with their eyes studiously
fixed upon the opposite side of the dancing floor.

Barbara could entertain no doubt that this insulting
act was intended to wound her. The “little
castle,” as it was called in Prebrunn, owned
by Bernhard Trainer’s family, was near the bishop’s
house which she occupied. Therefore the Trainers
had probably heard more than others about the visits
she received. Or did the gentlemen consider that
she deserved punishment for not treating Martina more
kindly?

Whatever might have caused the unseemly act, in Barbara’s
eyes it was a base trick, which filled her with furious
rage against the instigators. Had she shared
the Emperor’s power, it would have been a delight
to her in this hour to repay the malignant insult
in the same or far heavier coin. But, on Malfalconnet’s
account, she must submit in silence to what had been
inflicted upon her.

So, in a muffled tone, she requested the baron to
take her back to the tent, but while fulfilling her
wish he wondered at the long strides of the capricious
young lady at his side, and the mortifying inattention
with which she received his questions.

Meanwhile the Emperor had returned to the throne,
and Maurice of Saxony was again standing beside him,
while the chamberlain Andreas Wolff was humbly, inviting
the monarch to make the Ratisbon young people happy
by visiting the scene of the dancing.

After a dance of inquiry at the duke, Charles assented
to this request. But they must pardon him if
he remained a shorter time than he himself would desire,
as the physician was urging his return home.

While the chamberlain was retiring, Charles saw Barbara
leaning on Malfalconnet’s arm, beckoned to them,
and asked her whether she had yielded to her love
for dancing.

Page 200

A brief “No, your Majesty,” assured him
of the contrary, and led him to make the remark that
whoever exercised a noble art so admirably as she
would be wise to refrain from one which could afford
nobody any higher pleasure than the peasant and his
sweetheart, if they only had sound feet.

The counsel sounded harsh, almost warning, and the
already irritated girl with difficulty restrained
a sharp reply; but the Emperor was already rising,
that, leaning on Quijada’s arm, he might seek
the dancing ground.

Meantime the young Saxon duke had approached Barbara,
and expressed his admiration of the successful festival,
but she scarcely heard what he said. Yet when
she turned her face toward him, and his ardent gaze
rested yearningly upon her, she felt that the opportunity
had now come to carry out her half-forgotten intention
of arousing the jealousy of her royal lover.

Whatever it might cost, she must undertake the risk.

Summoning all her strength of will, she silenced the
bitter resentment which filled her heart, and a sunny
glance told Duke Maurice how much his escort pleased
her. Malfalconnet had watched every look of the
lady on his arm, as well as the duke’s, and
as they approached the scene of the dance he asked
the latter if his Highness would condescend to relieve
him for a short time of a delightful duty. An
important one in the service of his imperial Majesty——­

Here the duke’s eager assent interrupted him,
and the next moment Barbara was leaning on the arm
of the handsome young prince.

She had found in him the tool which she needed, and
Maurice entered into her design only too readily,
for the baron had scarcely retired ere he changed
his tone of voice and began an attack upon her heart.

He had no need to respect the older rights of his
imperial host, for Charles had distrustfully concealed
from him the bond which united him to the beautiful
singer. So, with glowing eloquence, he described
to Barbara how quickly and powerfully the spell of
her beauty and her wonderful art had fired his brain,
and besought her to aid him not to commence one of
the most important periods of his life with a sore
heart and sick with longing; but she allowed him to
speak, without interrupting him by a single word.

She could not misunderstand what he desired, and many
a glance permitted him to interpret it in his favour;
but resentment still continued to stir in her soul,
growing and deepening as the Emperor, seated on the
throne erected for him, without noticing her appearance,
sometimes listened to the chamberlain, who mentioned
the names of the handsomest dancers, sometimes addressed
a question to the Bishop of Arras and the other gentlemen
who had followed him.

Her royal lover deprived her of even the possibility
of rousing him by jealousy from the consciousness
of the secure possession of her person. Besides,
the flushed faces of the young men who had so shamelessly
insulted her were beaming before her with the joy of
the festival.

Page 201

But the expression of their features was already changing.
Duke Maurice had been recognised, and now all who
felt entitled to do so approached him, among them
her foes, at their head Bernhard Trainer, who were
obliged to bend low before him, and therefore before
her also.

Just then the city pipers struck up a gagliarde, and
the music was the air of the dancing-master’s
song by Baldassaro Donati, which had roused the Emperor’s
indignation a few days ago. In imagination she
again heard his outburst of anger, again saw him rise
from his seat in wrath at the innocent “Chi
la gagliarda vuol imparare.”

The time of reckoning had come, and he should pay
her for the bitterness of that hour! Yonder malevolent
fellows, who now looked bewildered and uneasy, should
be forced to retreat before her and perceive what power
she had obtained by her beauty and her art.

With fevered blood and panting breath she listened
to the gay music of the enlarged band of city pipers,
and watched the movements of the couples who had already
commenced the gagliarde, and—­how was it
possible in such a mood?—­a passionate desire
to dance took possession of her.

Without heeding the many persons who stood around
them, she whispered softly to the duke, “It
would be a pleasure to keep time to the music of the
gagliarde with you, your Highness.”

An ardent love glance accompanied this invitation,
and the bold Saxon duke was a man to avail himself
of every advantage.

He instantly expressed to the Ratisbon gentlemen his
desire to try the gagliarde himself to such excellent
music, and at a sign from the master of ceremonies
the dance stopped.

Several members of the Council requested the couples
to make way, and Maurice took his partner’s
hand and led her on the stage.

The sudden cessation of the music attracted the Emperor’s
attention also. In an instant he perceived what
was about to take place, and looked at Barbara.
Her eyes met his, and such a glow of indignation, nay,
wrath, so imperious a prohibition flashed from his
glance that her flushed cheeks paled, and she strove
to withdraw her hand from the duke’s.

But Maurice held it firmly, and at the same moment
the city pipers began to play again, and the music
streamed forth in full, joyous tones.

The wooing notes fell into her defiant soul like sparks
on dry brushwood. She could not help dancing,
though it should be her death. Already she had
begun, and with mischievous joy the thought darted
through her mind that now Charles, too, would perceive
what anguish lay in the fear of losing those whom
we love.

If this grief brought him back to her, she thought,
while eagerly following the figures of the dance,
she would tend him all her life like a maidservant;
if his pride severed the bond between them—­that
could not be done, because he loved her—­she
must bear it. Doubtless the conviction forced
itself upon her superstitious mind that Fate would
be ready to ruin her by the dance, yet she executed
what must bring misfortune upon her; to retreat was
no longer possible.

Page 202

These thoughts darted in wild confusion in a few moments
through her burning brain, and while Maurice swung
her around it seemed as if the music reached her through
the roar and thunder of breakers. The words “Chi
la gagliarda vuol imparare” constantly echoed
in her ears, mocking, reckless, urging her to retaliation.

The dancing-master, Bernandelli, whom the Council
had summoned from Milan to the Danube, had taught
her and the other young people of Ratisbon the gagliarde.
The sensible teacher, to suit the taste of the German
burghers, had divested the gay dance of its recklessness.
But he had showed his best pupils with how much more
freedom the Italians performed the gagliarde, and
Barbara had not forgotten the lesson. Duke Maurice
moved and guided her with the same unfettered ease
that the little maestro had displayed in former days.
Willing or not, she was obliged to follow his lead,
and she did so, carried away by the demands of her
excited blood and the pleasure of dancing, so long
denied, yet with the grace and perfect ear for time
which were her special characteristics.

Neither the Ratisbon citizens nor Charles, who had
been a good dancer himself, had ever seen the gagliarde
danced in this way by either the gentleman or the
lady. A better-matched couple could scarcely be
imagined than the tall, powerful, chivalrous young
prince and the beautiful, superbly formed, golden-haired
girl who seemed, as it were, carried away by the music.

But Charles did not appear to share the pleasure which
the sight of this rare couple and their dancing awakened
even in the most envious and austere of the Ratisbon
spectators, for when, in a pause, Barbara, with sparkling
eyes, glanced first into the duke’s face and
then, with a merry look of inquiry, at her lover,
she found his features no longer distorted by anger,
but disgusted, as though he were witnessing an unpleasant
spectacle.

Nevertheless she danced a short time longer without
looking at him, until suddenly the remembrance of
his reproving glance spoiled her pleasure in this
rare enjoyment.

She whispered to the duke that she was satisfied.

A wave of his hand stopped the music but, ere returning
the bow of her distinguished partner, Barbara looked
for the Emperor.

Her eyes sought him in vain-he had left the turf under
the lindens before the close of the dance. The
Bishop of Arras, Malfalconnet, and several of the
ladies and gentlemen who had left the tent in no small
number and gone to the scene of the dancing after
learning what was taking place there, had remained
after the monarch’s departure. Most of them
joined in the applause which the younger Granvelle
eagerly commenced when the city pipers lowered their
instruments.

Barbara heard it, and saw that Bernhard Trainer and
other young citizens of Ratisbon were following the
courtiers’ example, but she seemed scarcely
to notice the demonstration.

Page 203

The doubt whether Charles had merely not waited till
the end of the dance, or had already left the festival,
made her forget everything else. Through the
Bishop of Arras she learned that his Majesty had gone
home.

No one, not even the baron and Quijada, had received
a message for her.

This fresh humiliation pierced her heart like a knife.

On every similar occasion hitherto he had sent her
a few kind words, or, if Don Luis was the messenger,
tender ones.

Yet she was obliged to force herself to smile, in
order not to betray what was passing in her mind.
Besides, she could not shake off the Duke of Saxony
like the poor, handsome recruiting officer, Pyramus
Kogel.

Fortunately, some of the most prominent Ratisbon citizens
now crowded around Maurice to thank him for the honour
which he had done the city.

She availed herself of the favourable opportunity
to beg Granvelle, in a low tone, to keep the duke
away from her the next morning until his departure
at noon, and, if possible, now.”

“One service for another,” replied the
statesman. “I will rid you of the most
desirable admirer in Germany. But, on the day
after to-morrow, you will adorn my modest banquet
with the singing of the most gifted artist in the
world.”

“Gladly, unless his Majesty forbids me to do
so,” replied Barbara.

A few minutes later she informed her passionate young
ducal lover, who wished to call upon her in her own
home that very evening, that it would be utterly impossible.
With an air of the greatest regret, she said that
her little castle was guarded like an endangered citadel;
and when the duke proposed a meeting, he was interrupted
by the Bishop of Arras, who desired to speak to him
about “important business.”

In spite of the late hour, the minister, even without
the girl’s request, would have sought an audience
with the duke, and to the ambitious Maurice politics
and the important plans being prepared for immediate
execution were of infinitely greater value than a
love adventure, no matter what hours of pleasure it
promised to afford.

So Barbara succeeded in taking leave of the duke without
giving him offence.

The marquise was waiting for her with ill-repressed
indignation. The weary old woman had wanted to
return home long before, but the command of the grand
chamberlain compelled her to wait for Barbara and accompany
her the short distance to the house.

With an angry glance and a few bitter-sweet words
of greeting, the old dame entered the litter.
Barbara preferred to walk beside hers, for clouds
had darkened the sky; it had become oppressively sultry,
and she felt as if she would stifle in the close,
swaying box.

Four torch-bearers accompanied the litters. She
ordered the knight and the two lackeys whom Quijada
had commissioned to attend her to remain behind, and
also refused the service of the little Maltese, who—­oh,
how gladly!—­would have acted as a page
and carried her train.

Page 204

As the shipwrecked man on a plank amid the endless
surges longs for land, Barbara longed to get away,
far away from the noise of the festival. Yet
she dreaded the solitude which she was approaching,
for she now perceived how foolishly she had acted,
and with what sinful recklessness she had perhaps
forfeited the happiness of her life on this luckless
evening.

But need she idly wait for the doom to which she was
condemned? He whose bright eyes could beam on
her so radiantly had just wounded her with angry glances,
like a foe or a stern judge, and his indignation had
not been groundless.

What had life to offer her without his love?
The wantonly bold venture had been baffled. Yet
no! All was not yet lost!

Suppose she should summon courage to steal back to
him and on her knees repentantly beseech him to forgive
her?

But she cherished this desire only a few moments.
Then the angry, wronged heart rebelled against such
humiliation. She had not so shame fully offended
the Emperor, but the lover, and it was his place to
entreat her not to withdraw the love which made him
happy.

The young girl raised her head with fresh courage.
What had happened more than she had expected?

Because he loved her, he had become jealous, and made
her feel his anger. But if she should now persistently
withdraw from him, and let him realize how deeply
he had offended her, she could not fail to win the
game. In spite of all his crowns and kingdoms,
he was only a man, and must not she, who in a few
brief hours had forced a Maurice of Saxony to sue
yearningly for her love, succeed by the might of her
art and her beauty in transforming the wrath of the
far older man, Charles, into his former passion?

If the Italian novels with which she was familiar
did not lie, not only jealousy, but apparent indifference
on the part of the beloved object, fanned the heart
of man to burst into fresh flames.

It was only necessary to hold her impetuous temper
in check, and profit by the jealousy which had now
been aroused in Charles’s mind. Hitherto
she had always obeyed hasty impulses. Why should
not she, too, succeed in accomplishing a well-considered
plan? With the torturing emotions of failure,
mortification, desertion, remorse, and yearning for
forgiveness, now blended the hope of yet bringing
to a successful conclusion the hazardous enterprise
which she had already given up as hopeless, and, while
walking on, her brain toiled diligently over plans
for the campaign which would compel the great general
to return with twofold devotion the love of which
he had deprived her.

So, in the intense darkness, she followed the light
which the torches cast upon the uneven path.
At first she had taken up the train of her dress;
now it was sweeping the dusty road.

What did she care for the magnificent robe if she
regained Charles’s love? Of what use would
it be if she had lost it, lost it forever?

Page 205

Before the litters reached the little castle a gust
of wind rose, driving large drops of rain, straw,
and withered leaves-Barbara could not imagine whence
they came in the month of May—­into her face.
She was obliged to struggle against these harbingers
of the coming tempest, and her heart grew lighter
during the conflict. She was not born to endure,
but to contend.

The scene of the festivities emptied rapidly.
The duke and Granvelle drove back to the city in the
minister’s carriage. Malfalconnet and Quijada,
in spite of the gathering storm, went home on foot.

“What a festival!” said Don Luis scornfully.

“In former days such things presented a more
superb spectacle even here. But now! No
procession, no scarlet save on the cardinals, no golden
cross, no venerable priest’s head on the whole
pleasure ground, and, moreover, neither consecration
nor the pious exhortation to remember Heaven, whence
comes the joy in which the crowd is rejoicing.”

“I, too, missed something here,” cried
the baron eagerly, “and now I learn through
you what it is.”

“Will not the heretics themselves gradually
feel that they are robbing the pasty of faith of its
truffles—­what am I saying?—­of
its salt? May their dry black bread choke them!
The only thing that gave the unseasoned meal a certain
charm was the capitally performed gagliarde.

“Which angered his Majesty more deeply than
you imagine,” replied Don Luis. “The
singer’s days are probably numbered. It
is a pity! She was wonderfully successful in
subduing the spirits of melancholy.”

“The war, on which we can now depend, will do
that equally well, if not better,” interrupted
the baron. “Within a short time I, too,
have lost all admiration for this fair one. Cold-hearted
and arrogant. Capable of the utmost extremes
when her hot blood urges her on. Unpopular with
the people to whom she belongs, and, in spite of her
bold courage, surprisingly afraid of the Holy Inquisition.
Here, among the heretics, that gives cause for thought.”

“Enough!” replied Don Luis. “We
will let matters take their course. If the worst
comes, I, at least, will not move a finger in her behalf.”

“Nor will I,” said Malfalconnet, and both
walked quietly on.

[The End of Volume One of the Print Edition]

ETEXT editor’sbookmarks:

Attain a lofty height
from which to look down upon others

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 7.

CHAPTER I.

Through the storm, which lashed her face with whirling
clouds of dust and drops of rain, Barbara reached
the little Prebrunn castle.

Page 206

The marquise had not yet left her litter. The
wind had extinguished two of the torches. One
bearer walked in front of Barbara with his, and the
gale blew the smoking flame aside. But, ere she
had reached the gate, a man who had been concealed
behind the old elm by the path stepped forward to
meet her. She started back and, as he called her
by name, she recognised the young Wittenberg theologian,
Erasmus Eckhart. Sincerely indignant, she ordered
him to go away at once, but her first words were interrupted
by the shrill voice of the marquise, who had now left
her litter, and with loud shrieks ordered the steward
to seize the burglar.

Erasmus, however, trusted to his strength and nimbleness
and, instead of promptly taking flight, entreated
Barbara to listen to him a moment. Not until,
far from allowing herself to be softened, she, too,
threatened him, did he attempt to escape, but both
litters were in his way, and when he had successfully
passed around them the gardener, suddenly emerging
from the darkness, seized him. But the sturdy
young fellow knew how to defend his liberty, and had
already released himself from his assailant when other
servants grasped him.

Above the roar of the storm now rose the shrieks of
the marquise, the shouts of “Stop thief!”
from the men, and Erasmus’s protestations that
he was no robber, coupled with an appeal to Jungfrau
Blomberg, who knew him.

Barbara now stated that he was the son of a respectable
family, and had by no means come here to steal the
property of others; but the marquise, though she probably
correctly interpreted the handsome young fellow’s
late visit, vehemently insisted upon his arrest.
She treated Barbara’s remonstrance with bitter
contempt; and when Cassian, the almoner’s servant,
appeared and declared that he had already caught this
rascal more than once strolling in a suspicious manner
near the castle, and that he himself was here so late
only because his beloved bride, in her mistress’s
absence, was afraid of the robber and his companions,
Barbara’s entreaties and commands were disregarded,
and Erasmus’s hands were bound.

By degrees the noise drew most of the inmates of the
castle out of doors, and among them Frau Lerch.
Lastly, several halberdiers, who were coming from
the Lindenplatz and had heard the screams in the garden,
appeared, chained the prisoner, and took him to the
Prebrunn jail.

But scarcely had Erasmus been led away when the priests
of the household also came out and asked what had
happened. In doing this Barbara’s caution
in not calling Erasmus by name proved to have been
futile, for Cassian had recognised him, and told the
ecclesiastics what he knew. The chaplain then
asserted that, as the property of the Prince Abbot
of Berchtesgaden, the house and garden were under
ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and committed the further
disposal of the burglar’s fate to the Dominican
whom the almoner had placed there. For the present
he might remain in secular custody. Early the
following morning he must be brought before the Spanish
Dominicans who had come with the Emperor, and from
whom greater severity might be expected than from the
Ratisbon brotherhood, by whom monastic discipline
had been greatly relaxed.

Page 207

Meanwhile the wind had subsided, and the storm had
burst with thunder, lightning, and torrents of rain.
Priests and laymen retreated into the house, and so
did Barbara and the marquise. The latter had exposed
herself to the tempest only long enough to emphasize
the necessity of delivering the heretical night-bird
to the Spanish Dominicans very early the next morning,
and to show Barbara that she did not overlook the
significance of the incidents under the lindens.
With a disagreeable blending of tenderness and malice,
she congratulated the young girl on the applause she
had received as a dancer, the special favour which
she had enjoyed from the Duke of Saxony, and the arrest
of the dangerous burglar, which would also be a gratification
to his Majesty.

With these words the old aristocrat, coughing slightly,
tripped up the stairs; but Barbara, without vouchsafing
an answer to this speech, whose purpose she clearly
understood, turned her back upon her and went to her
own room.

She had desired no gift in return when, to save this
contemptible woman’s son and his child, she
sacrificed her lover’s precious memento; but
the base reward for the kind deed added a burning
sense of pain to the other sorrows which the day had
brought. What a shameful crime was ingratitude!
None could be equally hateful to eternal justice, for—­she
now learned it by her own experience—­ingratitude
repaid kindness with evil instead of with good, and
paralyzed the disappointed benefactor’s will
to perform another generous deed.

When she entered her sleeping-room the courage which
she had summoned during the walk, and the hope to
which she had yielded, appeared to be scattered and
blown away as if by a gust of wind. Besides, she
could not conceal from herself that she had drawn
the nails from the planks of her wrecked ship of life
with her own hand.

Did it not seem as if she had intentionally done precisely
what she ought most studiously to have left undone?
Her sale of the star had been only an unfortunate
act of weakness, but the dance, the luckless dance!
Not once only, several times Charles had stated plainly
enough how unpleasant it was to him even to hear the
amusement mentioned. She had behaved as if she
desired to forfeit his favour.

And why, in Heaven’s name, why? To arouse
his jealousy?

Fool that she was! This plant took root only
in a heart filled with love

And his?

Because she perceived that his love was dying, she
had awakened this fatal passion. Was it not as
if she had expected to make a water-lily blossom in
the sands of the desert?

True, still another motive had urged her to this mad
act. She knew not what name to give it, yet it
was only too possible that, in spite of her recent
experiences, it might overpower her again on the morrow.

Page 208

Surprised at herself, she struck her brow with her
hand, and when Frau Lerch, who was just combing her
wet hair, perceived it, she sobbed aloud, exclaiming:
“Poor, poor young gentleman, and the Hiltners,
who love him as if he were their own son! Such
a terrible misfortune! Old fool that I am!
The first time he asked admittance to show you the
tablature, and you did not want to receive him, I
persuaded you to do so. Then he fared like all
the others whose heads you have turned with your singing.
Holy Virgin! If the Hiltners learn that you and
I let him be bound without making any real protest.
It will fall heaviest upon me; you can believe that,
for Fran Hiltner and Jungfrau Martina, since the young
girl has gone to dances, have been among my best customers.
Now they will say: Frau Lerch, who used to be
a good little woman, left the young fellow in the
lurch when his life was at stake, for they will take
him to the Spanish Dominicans. They belong, to
the Holy Inquisition, and think no more of burning
people at the stake than we do of a few days in prison.”

Here Barbara interrupted her with the remark that
Erasmus could be convicted of no crime, and the Holy
Inquisition had no authority in Ratisbon.

But Frau Lerch knew better. That was all very
well during the Emperor’s absence, but now that
his Majesty resided in the city the case was different.
Erasmus had been arrested on ecclesiastical ground,
the chaplain had ordered him to be delivered to the
Spaniards early the next morning and, ere the syndic
could interpose, the rope would already be twisted
for him, for with these gentlemen the executioner stood
close beside the judge. Besides, she had heard
of a pamphlet against the Pope, which the young theologian
had had published, that had aroused great indignation
among the priesthood. If he fell into the hands
of the Dominicans, he would be lost, as surely as
she hoped to be saved. If he were only in the
custody of the city, of course a better result might
be hoped.

Here she stopped with a shriek, dropping the comb,
for the thundercloud was now directly over the city,
and a loud peal, following close upon the flash of
lightning, shook the house; but Barbara scarcely heeded
the dazzling glare and the rattling panes.

She had risen with a face as white as death.
She knew what severe sentences could be pronounced
by the Council of the Inquisition, and the thought
that the keenest suffering should be inflicted upon
the Hiltners through her, to whom they had showed
so much kindness, seemed unendurable. Besides,
what she had just said to herself concerning ingratitude
returned to her mind.

And then, Inquisition and the rack were two ideas
which could scarcely be separated from one another.
What might not be extorted from the accused by the
torture! In any case, the almoner’s suspicion
would obtain fresh nourishment, and her lover had
told her more than once—­what a special
dislike he felt for women who, with their slender intelligence,
undertook to set themselves above the eternal truths
of the Holy Church. And the jealousy which, fool
that she was, she had desired to arouse in her lover,
what abundant nourishment it would derive from the
events which had occurred on her return from the festival!

Page 209

But even these grave fears were overshadowed by the
thought of Dr. Hiltner’s wife and daughter.
With what fair-mindedness the former in the Convivium
had made her cause her own, how touching had been Martina’s
effort to approach her, and how ill that very day she
had requited their loyal affection! Erasmus was
as dear as a beloved son to these good women, and
Frau Lerch’s reproach that her intercession for
him was but lukewarm had not been wholly groundless.
The next day these friends who, notwithstanding the
difference in their religious belief, had treated her
more kindly than any one in Ratisbon, would hear this
and condemn her. That should not be! She
would not suffer them to think of her as she did of
the shameless old woman whose footsteps she still heard
over her head.

She must not remain idly here, and what her impetuous
nature so passionately demanded must be carried into
execution, though reason and the loud uproar of the
raging storm opposed it.

Fran Lerch had just finished arranging her hair and
handed her her night-coif, when she started up and,
with the obstinate positiveness characteristic of
her, declared that she was going at once to the Hiltners
to inform the syndic of what had happened here.
Erasmus was still in the hands of the town guards,
and perhaps it would be possible for the former to
withdraw the prisoner from ecclesiastical jurisdiction.

Frau Lerch clasped her hands in horror, exclaiming:
“Holy Virgin, child! Have you gone crazy?
Go out in this weather? Whoever is not killed
by lightning will drown in the puddles.”

But with that violent peal of thunder the storm had
reached its height, and when the next flash of lightning
came the thunder did not follow until some time after,
though the rain continued to beat as heavily against
the panes. Yet even had the tempest continued
to rage with full fury, Barbara would not have been
dissuaded from the resolution which she had once formed.

True, her attempt to persuade Frau Lerch to accompany
her remained futile. Her frail body, the dressmaker
protested, was not able to undertake such a walk through
the storm. If she yielded, it would be her death.
It would kill Barbara, also, and this crazy venture
would be too dearly paid for at the cost of two human
lives.

Barbara’s angry remark that if she would not
run the risk of getting wet for the sake of compassion,
she might on account of the Hiltners’ good custom,
finally made the excited woman burst into piteous crying;
yet in the midst of it she brought Barbara’s
dress and old thick cloak and, as she put them on
the girl, exclaimed, “But I tell you, child,
you’ll turn back again when you get halfway
there, and all you bring home will be a bad illness.”

“Whoever can execute the gagliarde to dance
herself into misery,” replied Barbara impatiently,
“will not find it difficult to take a walk through
the rain to save some one else from misfortune.
The cloak!”

Page 210

“She will go,” sobbed Frau Lerch.
“The servants must still obey you. At least
order the litter. This crazy night pilgrimage
can not remain concealed.”

“Then let people talk about it,” replied
Barbara firmly and, after having the cloak clasped
and the hood drawn over her head, she went out.
Frau Lerch, who had the key, opened the door for her
amid loud lamentations and muttered curses; but when
the girl had vanished in the darkness, she turned
back, saying fiercely through her set teeth: “Rush
on to ruin, you headstrong creature! If I see
aright, the magnificence here is already tottering.
Go and get wet! I’ve made my profit, and
the two unfinished gowns can be added to the account.
The Lord is my witness that I meant well. But
will she ever do what sensible people advise?
Always running her head against the wall. Whoever
will not hear, must feel.”

She hastened back into the house as she spoke to escape
the pouring rain, but Barbara paid little heed to
the wet, and waded on through the mire of the road.

The force of the storm was broken, the wind had subsided,
distant flashes of lightning still illumined the northern
horizon, and the night air was stiflingly sultry.
No one appeared in the road, and yet some belated
pedestrian might run against her at any moment, for
the dense darkness shrouded even the nearest objects.
But she knew the way, and had determined to follow
the Danube and go along the woodlands to the tanner’s
pit, whence the Hiltner house was easily reached.
In this way she could pass around the gate, which
otherwise she would have been obliged to have opened.

But ere gaining the river she was to learn that she
had undertaken a more difficult task than she expected.
Her father had never allowed her to go out after dark,
unaccompanied, even in the neighbourhood, and the terrors
of night show their most hideous faces to those who
are burdened by anxious cares. Several times
she sank so deep into the mud that her shoe stuck
fast in it, and she was obliged to force it on again
with much difficulty. As she walked on and a
strange, noise reached her from the woodyard on her
left, when she constantly imagined that she heard another
step following hers like an audible shadow, when drunken
raftsmen came toward her, hoarsely singing an obscene
song, she pressed against a fence in order not to
be seen by the dissolute fellows. But now a light
came wavering toward her, looking like a shining bird
flying slowly, or a hell-hound, with glowing eyes,
and at the sight it seemed to her impossible to wander
on all alone. But the mysterious light proved
to be only a lantern in the hand of an old woman who
had been to fetch a doctor, so she summoned up fresh
courage, though she told herself that here near the
lumber yards she might easily encounter raftsmen and
guards watching the logs and planks piled on the banks
of the river, fishermen, and sailors. Already
she heard the rushing of the swollen Danube, and horrible
tales returned to her memory of hapless girls who had
flung themselves into the waves here to put an end
to lives clouded by disgrace and fear.

Page 211

Then a shiver ran through her, and she asked herself
what her father would say if he could see her wading
alone through the water. Perhaps the fatigues
of the long journey had thrown him upon a sick-bed;
perhaps he had even—­at the fear she felt
as though her heart would stop beating—­succumbed
to them. Then he knew how matters stood with her,
the sin she had committed, and the shame she had brought
upon him that she might enjoy undisturbed a happiness
which was already changing into bitter sorrow.
Meanwhile it seemed as if she was gazing into his rugged,
soldierly face, reddish-brown, with rolling eyes, as
it looked when disfigured by anger, and she raised
her hands as if to hold him back; but only for a few
minutes, for she perceived that her excited imagination
was terrifying her with a delusion.

Drawing a long breath, she pushed her dank hair back
into her hood and pressed her hand upon her heart.
Then she was calm a while, but a new terror set it
throbbing again. Close beside her—­this
time at her right—­the loud laughter of
men’s harsh voices echoed through the darkness.

Barbara involuntarily stopped, and when she collected
her thoughts and looked around her, her features,
distorted by anxiety and terror, smoothed again, and
she instantly knocked with her little clinched hand
upon the door of the hut from whose open windows the
laughter had issued.

It stood close to the river bank, and the tiny dwelling
belonged to the Prior of Berchtesgaden’s fisherman
and boatman, who kept the distinguished prelate’s
gondolas and boats in order, and acted as rower to
the occupants of the little Prebrunn castle. She
had often met this man when he brought fish for the
kitchen, and he had gone with the boats in the water
excursions which she had sometimes taken with Gombert
and Appenzelder or with Malfalconnet and several pages.
She had treated him kindly, and made him generous
gifts.

All was still in the house after her knock, but almost
instantly the deep voice of the fisherman Valentin,
who had thrust his bearded face and red head out of
the window, asked who was there.

The answer received an astonished “Can it be!”
But as soon as she informed him that she needed a
companion, he shouted something to the others, put
on his fisherman’s cap, stepped to Barbara’s
side, and led the way with a lantern which stood lighted
on the table.

The road was so softened that, in spite of the light
which fell on the ground, it was impossible to avoid
the pools and muddy places. But the girl had
become accustomed to the wet and the wading. Besides,
the presence of her companion relieved her from the
terrors with which the darkness and the solitude had
tortured her. Instead of watching for new dangers,
she listened while Valentin explained how it happened
that she found him still awake. He had helped
hang the banners and lamps tinder the lindens, and
when the storm arose he assisted in removing the best
pieces. In return a jug of wine, with some bread
and sausages, had been given to him, and he had just
begun to enjoy them with two comrades.

Page 212

The Hiltner house was soon reached. Nothing had
troubled Barbara during the nocturnal walk since the
fisherman had accompanied her.

Her heart was lighter as she rapped with the knocker
on the syndic’s door; but, although she repeated
the summons several times, not a sound was heard in
the silent house.

Valentin had seen the Hiltners’ two men-servants
with the litters under the lindens, and Barbara thought
that perhaps the maids might have gone to the scene
of the festival to carry headkerchiefs and cloaks to
the ladies before the outbreak of the storm.
That the deaf old grandmother did not hear her was
easily understood.

The Hiltners could not have returned, so she must
wait.

First she paced impatiently to and fro in the rain,
then sat upon a curbstone which seemed to be protected
from the shower by the roof. But ever and anon
a larger stream of water poured down upon her from
the jaws of a hideous monster in which the gutter
ended than from the black clouds, and, dripping wet,
she at last leaned against the door, which was better
shielded by the projecting lintel, while the fisherman
inquired about the absent occupants of the house.

Thus minute after minute passed until the first and
then the second quarter of an hour ended. When
the third commenced, Barbara thought she had waited
there half the night. The rain began to lessen,
it is true, but the sultry night grew cooler, and
a slight chill increased her discomfort.

Yet she did not move from the spot. Here, in
front of the house in which estimable women had taken
her to their hearts with such maternal and sisterly
affection, Barbara had plainly perceived that she,
who had never ceased to respect herself, would forever
rob herself of this right if she did not make every
effort in her power to save Erasmus from the grave
peril in which he had become involved on her account.
During this self-inspection she did not conceal from
herself that, while singing his own compositions to
him, she had yielded to the unfortunate habit of promising
more with her eyes than she intended to perform.
How could this vain, foolish sport have pleased her
after she had yielded herself, soul and body, to the
highest and greatest of men!

Anne Mirl Woller had often been reproved by her mother,
in her presence, for her freedom of manner. But
who had ever addressed such a warning to her?
Now she must atone for her heedlessness, like many
other things which her impetuous will demanded and
proved stronger than the reason which forbade it.
It was a wonder that Baron Malfalconnet and Maestro
Gombert had not sued more urgently for her favour.
If she was honest, she could not help admitting that
her lover—­and such a lover!—­was
justified in wishing many things in her totally different.
But she was warned now, and henceforth these follies
should be over—­wholly and entirely over!

Page 213

If only he would refrain from wounding her with that
irritating sharpness, which made her rebellious blood
boil and clouded her clear brain! He was indeed
the Emperor, to whom reverence was due; but during
the happy hours which tenderly united them he himself
desired to be nothing but the man to whom the heart
of the woman he loved belonged. She must keep
herself worthy of him, nothing more, and this toilsome
errand would prevent her from sullying herself with
an ugly sin.

During these reflections the chill had become more
and more unendurable, yet she thought far less of
the discomfort which it caused her than of increased
danger to Erasmus from the Hiltners’ long absence.

The third quarter of an hour was already drawing to
an end when Valentin came hurrying up and told Barbara
that they were on the way. He had managed to
speak to the syndic, and told him who was waiting for
him.

A young maid-servant, running rapidly, came first
to open the house and light the lamps. She was
followed, quite a distance in advance of the others,
by Dr. Hiltner.

The fisherman’s communication had made him anxious.
He, too, had heard that Barbara was the Emperor’s
favourite. Besides, more than one complaint of
her offensive arrogance had reached him. But,
for that very reason, the wise man said to himself,
it must be something of importance that led her to
him at this hour and in such weather.

At first he answered her greeting with cool reserve,
but when she explained that she had come, in spite
of the storm, because the matter concerned the weal
or woe of a person dear to him, and he saw that she
was dripping wet, he honestly regretted his long delay,
and in his manly, resolute manner requested her to
follow him into the house; but Barbara could not be
persuaded to do so.

To give the thunderstorm time to pass and take his
wife and daughter home dry, he had entered a tavern
near the lindens and there engaged in conversation
with several friends over some wine. Whenever
he urged returning, the young people—­she
knew why—­objected. But at last they
had started, and Bernhard Trainer had accompanied
the Hiltners, in order to woo Martina on the way.
Her parents had seen this coming, and willingly confided
their child’s happiness to him.

The betrothed couple now came up also, and saw with
surprise the earnest zeal with which Martina’s
father was discussing something, they knew not what,
with the singer on whose account they had had their
first quarrel. The lover had condemned Barbara’s
unprecedented arrogance during the dance so severely
that Martina found it unendurable to listen longer.

Frau Sabina, too, did not know how to interpret Barbara’s
presence; but one thing was certain in her kindly
heart—­this was no place for such conversation.
How wet the poor girl must be! The wrong which
Barbara had done her child was not taken into consideration
under these circumstances and, with maternal solicitude,
she followed her husband’s example, and earnestly
entreated Barbara to change her clothes in her house
and warm herself with a glass of hot black currant
wine. But Barbara could not be induced to do
so, and hurriedly explained to the syndic what he lacked
the clew to understand.

Page 214

In a few minutes she had made him acquainted with
everything that it was necessary for him to know.
Dr. Hiltner, turning to his wife, and mean while looking
his future son-in-law steadily in the eye, exclaimed,
“We are all, let me tell you, greatly indebted
to this brave girl.”

Frau Sabina’s heart swelled with joy, and to
Martina, too, the praise which her father bestowed
on Barbara was a precious gift. The mother and
daughter had always espoused her cause, and now it
again proved that they had done well.

“So I was right, after all,” whispered
the young girl to her lover.

“And will prove so often,” he answered
gaily. But when, a short time after, he proposed
to Barbara’s warm advocate to accompany the singer
home, Martina preferred to detain him, and invited
him to stay in the house with her a little while longer.

These incidents had occupied only a brief period,
and Dr. Hiltner undertook to escort the young girl
himself. To save time, he questioned her about
everything which he still desired to know, but left
her before she turned into the lane leading to the
little castle, because he was aware that she, who
belonged to the Emperor’s household, might he
misjudged if she were seen in his company.

Shortly after, he had freed Erasmus from imprisonment
and sent him, in charge of one of the Council’s
halberdiers, beyond the gate. He was to remain
concealed outside the city until the syndic recalled
him.

The young theologian willingly submitted, after confessing
to his foster-father how strongly love for Barbara
had taken possession of him.

This act might arouse strong hostility to the syndic,
but he did not fear it. Moreover, the Emperor
had showed at the festival plainly enough his withdrawal
of the good opinion which he had formerly testified
upon many an occasion. This was on account of
his religion, and where that was concerned there was
no yielding or dissimulation on either side.

Barbara returned home soothed.

Frau Lerch was waiting for her, and with many tokens
of disapproval undressed her. Yet she carefully
dried her feet and rubbed them with her hands, that
she might escape the fever which she saw approaching.

Barbara accepted with quiet gratitude the attention
bestowed upon her, but, though she closed her eyes,
the night brought no sleep, for sometimes she shivered
in a chill, sometimes a violent headache tortured
her.

CHAPTER II.

Sleep also deserted the Emperor’s couch.
After his return from the festival he tried to examine
several documents which the secretary Gastelii had
laid ready for him on the writing-table, but he could
not succeed. His thoughts constantly reverted
to Barbara and her defiant rebellion against the distinct
announcement of his will. Had the Duke of Saxony,
so much his junior and, moreover, a far handsomer and
perhaps more generous prince, won her favour, and
therefore did she perhaps desire to break the bond
with him?

Page 215

Why not?

She was a woman, and a capricious one, too, and of
what would not such a nature be capable? Besides,
there was something else. Jamnitzer, the Nuremberg
goldsmith, had intrusted a casket of jewels to Adrian
to keep during his absence. They were intended
for the diadems which the Emperor was to give his
two nieces for bridal presents. The principal
gems among them were two rubies and a diamond.
On the gold of the old-fashioned setting were a P
and an l, the initial letters of his motto “Plus
ultra.” He had once had it engraved upon
the back of the star which he bestowed upon Barbara.
His keen eye and faithful memory could not be deceived—­Jamnitzer’s
jewels had been broken from that costly ornament.

From time immemorial it had belonged to the treasures
of his family, and he had already doubted whether
it was justifiable to give it away.

Was it conceivable that Barbara had parted with this,
his first memento, sold it, “turned it into
money"?—­the base words wounded his chivalrous
soul like the blow of a scourge.

She was a passionate, defiant, changeful creature,
it is true, yet her nature was noble, hostile to baseness,
and what a wealth of the purest and deepest feeling
echoed in her execution of solemn songs! This
induced him to reject as impossible the suspicion
that she could have stooped to anything so unworthy.

Still, it was not easily banished. A long series
of the sorest disappointments had rendered him distrustful,
and he remembered having asked her several times for
the star in vain.

Perhaps it had been stolen from her, and Jamnitzer
had obtained it from the thief himself or from the
receiver. This thought partially soothed him,
especially as, if correct, it would be possible for
him to recover the ornament. But he was an economical
manager, and to expend thousands of ducats for such
a thing just at this time, when immense sums were
needed for the approaching war, seemed to him more
than vexatious.

Besides, the high price which he had paid for the
Saxon’s aid rendered him uneasy. He had
ceded two large bishoprics to his Protestant ally,
and this act of liberality, which, it is true, had
been approved and supported by Granvelle, could no
longer be undone. Moreover, if he drew the sword,
he must maintain the pretence that it was not done
for the sake of religion, but solely to chastise the
insubordinate Protestant princes, headed by the Elector
John Frederick of Saxony and Philip of Hesse, who
had seriously angered him.

In ten days the Reichstag would be opened in Ratisbon
and, in spite of his special invitation, these princes,
who had refused to recognise the Council of Trent,
had excused their absence upon trivial pretexts—­the
Hessian, who on other occasions, attended by his numberless
servants in green livery, had made three times as
great a display as he, the Emperor, on the pretext
that the journey to Ratisbon would be too expensive.

Page 216

Maurice now had his imperial word and he the duke’s;
but since that evening Charles thought he had noticed
something which lessened his confidence in the Saxon.
It was not only jealousy which showed him this young,
clever, brave, and extremely ambitious prince in a
more unfavourable light than before. He knew
men, and thought that he had perceived in him signs
of the most utter selfishness. As Maurice, to
gain two bishoprics, and perhaps later the Elector’s
hat, abandoned his coreligionists, his cousin and
his father-in-law, he would also desert him if his
own advantage prompted him to do so. True, such
an ally was useful for many things, but he could not
be trusted implicitly a single hour.

Maurice certainly had not remained ignorant of Barbara’s
relation to him, the Emperor, and yet, in the sovereign’s
very presence, he had courted her favour with such
defiant boldness that Charles struck the writing-table
with his fist as he thought of his manner to the singer.
Would Maurice impose greater moderation upon himself
in political affairs?

Yet perhaps he judged the Saxon too severely, and
made him suffer for another’s sin. The
man’s conduct is governed by the woman’s,
and he had seen how Barbara, as it were, gave Maurice
the right to sue thus boldly for her favour.

Was it conceivable that she loved him, after having
wounded him, as if intentionally, by acts which she
knew were detestable to him? If her heart was
still his, how could she have so inconsiderately favoured
in his presence another, younger man?

Angrily excited by the question, he rose from the
writing-table. But ere he went to rest he thought
of his hapless mother, whose birthday at this hour,
beyond midnight, was now over, and, kneeling before
the priedieu in his bedroom, he fervently commended
her to the mercy of Heaven. This woman had loved
her husband so fondly that it was long ere she could
resolve to part from his corpse, yet she was the heiress
of the mightiest sovereigns; and what was this Ratisbon
girl whom he honoured with his affection?

And yet!

While her lips were still glowing from his kisses,
she had carried on a reckless game with another, and
was now robbing him of the repose of mind which he
so urgently, needed.

And the mother of the woman whose birthday had just
passed, the proud Queen Isabella, the conqueror of
the Moors—­what would she have said had
she been condemned to see her grandson, the heir of
so great an empire, ensnared by such bonds?

He had proved, since he wielded the sceptre, that
he did not lack strength of will, and he must show
it again.

He reminded himself indignantly that he was not only
the ruler of many nations, but the head of perhaps
the most illustrious family on earth.

Page 217

He thought of his royal brothers and sisters, his
haughty son Philip, his daughters, nephews, and nieces;
and while pouring forth his soul in fervent prayer
for his unfortunate mother, with her disordered intellect,
he also besought the Redeemer to free him from the
evil of this love. Three words from his lips
would have sufficed to rid him of Barbara forever,
but—­he felt it—­that would not
end the matter. He must also learn to forget
her, and for that he needed the aid of the higher powers.
He had once more yielded to worldly pleasure.
The kiss of her beautiful soft lips had been sweet,
the melody of her voice still more blissful. It
had given him hours of rapture; but were these joys
worth the long repentance which was already beginning?
It was wise to sacrifice the transitory pleasures
of earth to loftier purposes. One thing alone
promised permanent duration even here—­what
he was achieving for the future greatness of his own
name and that of his race. For them he was now
going to war, and, by fighting against the heretics,
the foes of God, he entered the strife, in a sense,
as the instrument of Heaven. Thus, not only his
duty as a sovereign, but care for his eternal salvation,
compelled him to cast aside everything which might
jeopardize the triumph of his good, nay, sacred cause;
and what could imperil it more seriously than this
late passion, which to-day had rendered it impossible
to do his duty?

Firmly resolved to resign Barbara before his brother
Ferdinand reached Ratisbon with his family, he rose
from the priedieu and sought his couch. But sleep
fled from the anxious ruler; besides, the pain of the
gout became more severe.

After rising early, he went limping to mass, breakfasted,
and began his work.

Many charts and plans had been placed on the writing-table
for him, and beside them he found a letter from Granvelle,
in which he stated his views concerning the alliance
with Duke Maurice, and what advantage might be derived
from it. Both as a whole and in detail Charles
approved them, and gladly left to the minister the
final negotiations with the duke, who intended to
leave Ratisbon at noon. If he briefly ratified
the terms which had been arranged with Granvelle,
and gave Maurice his hand in farewell, he thought
he would have satisfied amply the claims of the covetous
man, of whose aid, however, he stood in need.

After the thunderstorm the weather had grown cloudy
and cool. Perhaps the change had caused his increased
suffering and unhappy mood. But the true reason
was doubtless the resolution formed the night before,
and which now by day seemed more difficult to execute
than he had thought at the priedieu. He was still
resolved to keep it, but earthly life appeared less
short, and he could not conceal from himself that,
without Barbara’s sunny cheerfulness, bewitching
tenderness, and, alas! without her singing, his future
existence would lack its greatest charm. His life
would be like this gloomy day. Put he would not
relinquish what he had once firmly determined and
proved to himself by reasoning to be the correct course.

Page 218

He could not succeed in burying himself in charts
and plans as usual and, while imagining how life could
be endured without the woman he loved, he pushed the
papers aside.

In days like these, when the old ache again attacked
him, Barbara and her singing had brightened the dreary
gloom and lessened the pain, or she had caressed and
sung it entirely away. He seemed to himself like
a surly patient who throws aside the helpful medicine
because it once tasted badly to him and was an annoyance
to others. Yet no. It contained poison also,
so it was wise to put it away. But had not Dr.
Mathys told him yesterday that the strongest remedial
power was concealed in poisons, and that they were
the most effective medicines? Ought he not to
examine once more the reasons which had led him to
this last resolution? He bowed his head with
an irresolution foreign to his nature, and when his
greyhound touched his aching foot he pushed the animal
angrily away.

The confessor De Soto found him in this mood at his
first visit.

Ere he crossed the threshold he saw that Charles was
suffering and felt troubled by some important matter,
and soon learned what he desired to know. But
if Charles expected the Dominican to greet his decision
with grateful joy, he was mistaken, for De Soto had
long since relinquished the suspicion which had prejudiced
him against Barbara and, on the contrary, with the
Bishop of Arras, had reached the certainty that the
love which united the monarch to the singer would benefit
him.

Both knew the danger which threatened the sovereign
from his tendency to melancholy, and now that he saw
his efforts to urge the Emperor to a war with the
Smalcalds crowned with success, he wished to keep alive
in him the joyousness which Barbara, and she alone,
had aroused and maintained.

So he used the convincing eloquence characteristic
of him to shake the monarch’s resolve, and lead
him back to the woman he loved.

The Church made no objection to this bond of free
love formed by a sovereign whom grave political considerations
withheld from a second marriage. If his Majesty’s
affection diminished the success of his work, the
separation from so dear a being, who afforded him so
much pleasure, would do this to a far greater degree.
That Barbara had allowed the bold Saxon too much liberty
on the dancing ground he did not deny, but took advantage
of the opportunity to point out the unscrupulousness
which characterized Maurice, like all heretics.
As for Barbara, the warm blood and fresh love of pleasure
of youth, qualities which to many were her special
charm, had led her into the error of the luckless dance.
But the Emperor, who until then had listened to De
Soto’ here interrupted him to confide the unfortunate
suspicion which had been aroused in him the day before.

The mention of this matter, however, was very opportune
to the almoner, for he could easily turn it to the
advantage of the suspected girl. The day before
yesterday she had confessed to him the fate of the
valuable star, and begged him, if her imprudent deed
of charity should be discovered, to relieve her of
the painful task of explaining to Charles how she
had been induced to sell a memento so dear to her.
Thereupon the confessor himself had ascertained from
the marquise and the goldsmith Jamnitzer that Barbara
had told him the whole truth.

Page 219

So in his eyes, and probably in those of a higher
power, this apparently ignoble act would redound no
little to the credit of the girl’s heart.

Charles listened to this explanation with a silent
shrug of the shoulders. Such a deed could scarcely
be otherwise regarded by the priest, but Barbara’s
disregard of his first gift offended him far more
than the excellent disposition evinced by the hasty
act pleased him. She had flung the first tangible
token of his love into the insatiable jaws of a worthless
profligate, like a copper coin thrown as alms to a
beggar. It grieved the soul of the economical
manager and lover of rare works of art to have this
ancient and also very valuable family heirloom broken
to pieces. Malfalconnet would not fail to utter
some biting jest when he heard that Charles must now,
as it were, purchase this costly ornament of himself.
He would have forgiven Barbara everything else more
easily than this mad casting away of a really royal
gift.

Expressing his indignation to the almoner without
reserve, he closed the interview with him. When
Charles was again alone he tried to rise, in order,
while pacing up and down the room, to examine his resolution
once more. But his aching foot prevented this
plan and, groaning aloud, he sank back into his arm-chair.

His heart had not been so sore for a long time, and
it was Barbara’s fault. Yet he longed for
her. If she had laid her delicate white hand
upon his brow, he said to himself, or had he been permitted
to listen to even one of her deeply felt religious
songs, it would have cheered his soul and even alleviated
his physical suffering. Several times he stretched
his hand toward the bell to send for her; but she had
offended him so deeply that he must at least let her
feel how gravely she had erred, and that the lion
could not be irritated unpunished, so he conquered
himself and remained alone. The sense of offended
majesty strengthened his power of resisting the longing
for her.

Indignant with himself, he again drew the maps toward
him. But like a cloth fluttering up and down
between a picture and the beholder, memories of Barbara
forced themselves between him and the plans over which
he was bending.

This could not continue!

Perhaps, after all, her singing was the only thing
which could restore his lost composure. He longed
for it even more ardently than for her face.
If he sent for her, he could show her by his manner
what fruit her transgressions had borne. The
rest would follow as a matter of course. Now
every fibre of his being yearned for the melody of
her voice.

Obeying a hasty resolution, he rang the bell and ordered
Adrian to call Quijada and command Barbara to sing
in the Golden Cross that afternoon.

After the valet had replaced his aching foot in the
right position, Don Luis appeared. Without any
further comment the Emperor informed him that he had
determined to sever the bond of love which united him
to the singer.

Page 220

While speaking, he looked his friend sharply in the
face, and when he saw, by his silent bow, that his
decision called forth no deeper emotion in him, he
carelessly added that, nevertheless, he intended to
hear her sing that day, and perhaps many times more.

Perceiving a significant smile upon the lips of the
faithful follower, and recognising the peril contained
in the last resolve, he shook his finger at Quijada,
saying: “As if even the inmost recesses
of your soul were concealed from me! You are
asking yourself, Why does Charles deny me leave to
visit Villagarcia, and thereby cruelly prevent my being
happy with my dear, beautiful young wife, after so
long a separation, if he considers himself strong
enough to turn his back, without further ceremony,
upon the woman he loves, after seeing and hearing her
again?”

“Your Majesty has read correctly,” replied
Don Luis, “yet my wish for a brief stay with
Doha Magdalena de Ulloa is very different from your
Majesty’s desire.”

“How?” demanded Charles in a sharp tone
of inquiry. “Is my strength of will, in
your opinion, so far inferior to yours?”

“Your Majesty can scarcely deem me capable of
so presumptuous an error,” replied Quijada.
“But your Majesty is Charles V, who has no superior
save our Lord in heaven. I, on the contrary,
am only a Castilian nobleman, and as such prize my
honour as my highest treasure; but, above all other
things, even above the lady of my heart, stands the
King.”

“I might know that,” cried the Emperor,
holding out his hand to his friend. “Yet
I refused you the leave of absence, you faithful fellow.
The world calls this selfishness. But since it
still needs me, it ought in justice to excuse me,
for never have I needed you so much as during these
decisive weeks, whether war is declared—­and
it will come to that—­or not. Think
how many other things are also impending! Besides,
my foot aches, and my heart, this poor heart, bears
a wound which a friend’s careful hand will soothe.
So you understand, Luis, that the much-tormented Charles
can not do without you just now.”

Quijada, with sincere emotion, bent over the monarch’s
hand and kissed it tenderly, but the Emperor, for
the first time, hastily stroked his bearded cheek,
and said in an agitated tone, “We know each other.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” cried the Spaniard.
“In the first place, I will not again annoy
my master with the request for a leave of absence.
Dona Magdalena must try how she can accommodate herself
to widowhood while she has a living husband, if the
Holy Virgin will only permit me to offer your Majesty
what you expect from me.”

“I will answer for that,” the Emperor
was saying, when Adrian interrupted him.

The messenger had returned from Prebrunn with the
news that the singer had taken cold the day before,
and could not leave the house.

Charles angrily exclaimed that he knew what such illness
meant, and his under lip protruded so far that it
was easy to perceive how deeply this fresh proof of
Barbara’s defiance and vanity incensed him.

Page 221

But when the chamberlain said that the singer had
been attacked by a violent fever, Charles changed
colour, and asked quickly in a tone of sincere anxiety:
“And Dr. Mathys? Has he seen her? No?
Then he must go to her at once, and I shall expect
tidings as soon as he returns. Perhaps the fever
was seething in her blood yesterday.”

He had no time to make any further remarks about the
sufferer, for one visitor followed another.

Shortly before noon the Bishop of Arras ushered in
Duke Maurice, who wished to take leave of him.

Granvelle, in a businesslike manner, summed up the
result of the negotiations, and Charles made no objection;
but after he had said farewell to the Saxon prince,
he remarked, with a smile which was difficult to interpret:
“One thing more, my dear Prince. The beautiful
singer has suffered from the gagliarde, which she had
the honour of dancing with you; she is lying ill of
a fever. We will, however, scarcely regard it
as an evil omen for the agreements which we concluded
on the same day. With our custom of keeping our
hands away from everything which our friendly ally
claims as his right, our alliance, please God, will
not fail to have good success.”

A faint flush crimsoned the intelligent face of the
Saxon duke, and an answer as full of innuendo as the
Emperor’s address was already hovering on his
lips, when the chief equerry’s entrance gave
him power to restrain it.

Count Lanoi announced that his Highness’s travelling
escort was ready, and the Emperor, with an air of
paternal affection, bade the younger sovereign farewell.

As soon as the door had closed behind Maurice, Charles,
turning to Granvelle, remarked, “The Saxon cousin
returned our clasp of the hand some what coldly, but
the means of rendering it warmer are ready.”

“The Elector’s hat,” replied the
Bishop of Arras. “I hope it will prevent
him from making our heads hot, as the Germans say,
instead of his own.”

“If only our brains keep cool,” replied
the Emperor. “It is needful in dealing
with this young man.”

“He knows his Machiavelli,” added the
statesman, “but I think the Florentine did not
write wholly in vain for us also.”

“Scarcely,” observed the Emperor, smiling,
and then rang the little bell to have his valet summon
Dr. Mathys.

The leech had returned from his visit to Barbara,
and feared that the burning fever from which she was
suffering might indicate the commencement of inflammation
of the lungs.

Charles started up and expressed the desire to be
conveyed at once in the litter to Prebrunn; but the
physician declared that his Majesty’s visit
would as certainly harm the feverish girl as going
out in such weather would increase the gout in his
royal master’s foot.

The monarch shrugged his shoulders, and seized the
despatches and letters which had arrived. The
persons about him suffered severely from his detestable
mood, but the dull weather of this gloomy day appeared
also to have a bad effect upon the confessor De Soto,
for his lofty brow was scarcely less clouded than
the sky. He did not allude to Barbara by a single
word, yet she was the cause of his depression.

Page 222

After his conversation with the sovereign he had retired
to his private room, to devote himself to the philological
studies which he pursued during the greater portion
of the day with equal zeal and success. But he
had scarcely begun to be absorbed in the new copy of
the best manuscript of Apuleius, which had readied
him from Florence, and make notes in the first Roman
printed work of this author, when Cassian interrupted
him.

He had missed the servant in the morning. Now
the fellow, always so punctual when he had not gazed
too deeply into the wine-cup, stood before him in
a singular plight, for he was completely drenched,
and a disagreeable odour of liquor exhaled from him.
The flaxen hair, which bristled around his head and
hung over his broad, ugly face, gave him so unkempt
and imbecile an appearance that it was repulsive to
the almoner, and he harshly asked where he had been
loitering.

But Cassian, confident that his master’s indignation
would soon change to approval and praise, rapidly
began to relate what had occurred outside the little
castle at Prebrunn when the festival under the lindens
was over.

After helping to place the Wittenberg theologian in
custody, he had followed Barbara at some distance
during her nocturnal walk. While she waited in
front of Dr. Hiltner’s house and talked with
the members of the syndic’s family after their
return, he had remained concealed in the shadow of
a neighbouring dwelling, and did not move until the
doctor had gone away with the singer. He cautiously
glided behind them as far as the garden, witnessed
the syndic’s cordial farewell to his companion,
and dogged the former to the Prebrunn jail. Here
he had again been obliged to wait patiently a long
while before the doctor came out into the open air
with the prisoner. The rope had been removed from
Erasmus’s hands, and Cassian had remained at
his heels until he stopped in the village of Kager,
on the Nuremberg road. The young man had taken
a lunch in the tavern there; the money for it was
given him by the syndic. Cassian had seen the
gold pieces which had been placed in Erasmus’s
hand, to pay his travelling expenses, glitter in the
rosy light of dawn.

In reply to the almoner’s question whether he
remembered any portion of the conversation between
the syndic and the singer, Cassian admitted that he
had been obliged to keep too far away from them to
hear it, but Dr. Hiltner’s manner to the girl
had been very friendly, especially when he took leave
of her.

The anything but grateful manner with which the almoner
received this story was a great disappointment to
the overzealous servant; nay, he secretly permitted
himself to doubt his master’s wisdom and energy
when the latter remarked that the arrest of a man
who had merely entered a stranger’s garden was
entirely unjustifiable, and that he was aware of the
singer’s acquaintanceship with the Hiltners.

With these words he motioned Cassian to the door.

Page 223

When the prelate was again alone he gazed thoughtfully
into vacancy. He understood human beings sufficiently
well to know that Barbara had not deceived him in
her confession. In spite of the nocturnal walk
with the head of the Ratisbon heretics, she was faithful
to the Catholic Church.

Erasmus’s visit at night alone gave him cause
for reflection, and suggested the doubt whether he
might not have interceded too warmly for this peculiar
creature and her excitable artist nature.

CHAPTER III.

Silence pervaded the little castle in Prebrunn; nay,
there were days when a thick layer of straw in the
road showed that within the house lay some one seriously
ill, who must be guarded from every sound.

In Ratisbon and the Golden Cross, on the contrary,
the noise and bustle constantly increased. On
the twenty-eighth of May, King Ferdinand arrived with
his family to visit his brother Charles. The Reichstag
would be opened on the fifth of June, and attracted
to the Danube many princes and nobles, but neither
the Elector John of Saxony nor the Landgrave Philip
of Hesse, the heads of the Smalcald league. King
Ferdinand’s two daughters were to be married
the first of July, and many a distinguished guest
came to Ratisbon in June. Besides, several soldiers
began to appear.

The Emperor Charles’s hours were filled to the
brim with work and social obligations. The twinges
of the gout had not wholly disappeared, but remained
bearable.

The quiet good-breeding of the two young archduchesses
pleased the Emperor, and their young brother Maximilian’s
active mind and gay, chivalrous nature delighted him,
though many a trait made him, as well as the confessor,
doubt whether he did not incline more toward the evangelical
doctrine than beseemed a son of his illustrious race.
But Charles himself, in his youth, had not been a
stranger to such leanings. If Maximilian was
intrusted with the reins of government, he would perceive
in what close and effective union stood the Church
and the state. Far from rousing his opposition
by reproaches, the shrewd uncle won his affection
and merely sowed in his mind, by apt remarks, the seeds
which in due time would grow and bear their fruit.

The Austrians watched with sincere admiration the
actually exhausting industry of the illustrious head
of their house, for he allowed himself only a few
hours’ sleep, and when Granvelle had worked with
him until he was wearied, he buried himself, either
alone or with some officers of high rank, in charts
of the seat of war, in making calculations, arranging
the levying of recruits and military movements, and
yet did not withdraw from the society of his Viennese
relatives and other distinguished guests.

Still, he did not forget Barbara. The leech was
daily expected to give a report of her health, and
when, during the middle of June, Dr. Mathys expressed
doubts of her recovery, it rendered him so anxious
that his relatives noticed it, and attributed it to
the momentous declaration of war which was on the
eve of being made.

Page 224

When the sufferer at last began to recover, his selfishness
was satisfied with the course of events. True,
he thought of the late springtime of love which he
had enjoyed as an exquisite gift of Fortune, and when
he remembered many a tender interview with Barbara
a bright smile flitted over his grave countenance.
But, on the whole, he was glad that this love affair
had come to so honourable an end. The last few
weeks had claimed his entire time and strength so
rigidly and urgently that he would have been compelled
to refuse Barbara’s demands upon his love or
neglect serious duties.

Besides, a meeting between Barbara and his nephew
and young nieces could scarcely have been avoided,
and this would have cast a shadow upon the unbounded
reverence and admiration paid him by the wholly inexperienced,
childlike young archduchesses, which afforded him sincere
pleasure. The confessor had taken care to bring
this vividly before his mind. While speaking
of Barbara with sympathizing compassion, he represented
her illness as a fresh token of the divine favour
which Heaven so often showed to the Emperor Charles,
and laid special stress upon the disadvantages which
the longer duration of this love affair—­though
in itself, pardonable, nay, even beneficial—­would
have entailed.

Queen Mary’s boy choir was to remain in Ratisbon
some time longer, and whenever the monarch attended
their performances—­which was almost daily-the
longing for Barbara awoke with fresh strength.
Even in the midst of the most arduous labour he considered
the question how it might be possible to keep her
near him—­not, it is true, as his favourite,
but as a singer, and his inventive brain hit upon
a successful expedient.

By raising her father to a higher rank, he might probably
have had her received by his sister Mary among her
ladies in waiting, but then there would always have
been an unwelcome temptation existing. If, on
the other hand, Barbara would decide to take the veil,
an arrangement could easily be made for him to hear
her often, and her singing might then marvellously
beautify the old age, so full of suffering and destitute
of pleasure, that awaited him. He realized more
and more distinctly that it was less her rare beauty
than the spell of her voice and of her art which had
constrained him to this late passion.

The idea that she would refuse to accept the fate
to which he had condemned her was incomprehensible
to his sense of power, and therefore did not occur
to his mind.

Yet, especially when he was bearing pain, he did not
find it difficult to silence even this wish for the
future, for then memories of the last deeply clouded
hours of their love bond forced themselves upon him.

He saw her swinging like a Bacchante in the dance
with the young Saxon duke; the star which had been
thrown away appeared before his eyes, and his irritated
soul commanded him never to see her again.

But the suffering of a person whom we have once loved
possesses a reconciling power, and he who usually
forgot no insult, even after the lapse of years, was
again disposed to forgive her, and reverted to the
wish to continue to enjoy her singing.

Page 225

When, before their wedding day, he gave his nieces
the diadems which Jammtzer had made for them, his
resentment concerning the ornament sold by Barbara
again awoke. He could no longer punish her for
this “loveless” deed, as he called it,
but he made the marquise feel severely enough his
indignation for her abuse of the young girl’s
inexperience, for, without granting her a farewell
audience, he sent her back to Brussels, with letters
to Queen Mary expressing his displeasure. Instead
of her skilful maid Alphonsine, a clumsy Swabian girl
accompanied her—­the former had married
Cassian.

Barbara heard nothing of all these things; her recovery
was slow, and every source of anxiety was kept from
her.

She had never been ill before, and to be still at
a time when every instinct urged her to battle for
her life happiness and her love, to prove the power
of her beauty and her art, put her slender stock of
patience to the severest test.

During the first few days she was perfectly conscious,
and watched with keen suspense what was passing around
her. It made her happy to find that Charles sent
his own physician to her but, on the other hand, she
was deeply and painfully agitated by his failure to
grant the entreaty which she sent by Dr. Mathys to
let her see his face, even if only for a moment.

Gombert and Appenzelder, Massi, the Wollers from the
Ark, Dr. Hiltner’s wife and daughter, the boy
singer Hannibal, and many gentlemen of the court-nay,
even the Bishop of Arras—­came to inquire
for her, and Barbara had strictly enjoined Frau Lerch
to tell her everything that concerned her; for every
token of sympathy filled the place, as it were, of
the applause to which she was accustomed.

When, on the second day, she heard that old Ursula
had been there to ask about her for Wolf, who was
now convalescing, she passionately insisted upon seeing
her, but, obedient to the physician’s orders,
Frau Lerch would not admit her. Then Barbara
flew into such a rage that the foolish woman forgot
to take the fever into account, and determined to return
home. Many motives drew her there, but especially
her business; day and night her mind was haunted by
the garments which, just at this time, before the
commencement of the Reichstag, other dressmakers were
fashioning for her aristocratic customers.

A certain feeling of shame had restrained her from
leaving Barbara directly after the beginning of her
illness. Besides, delay had been advisable, because
the appearance of the Emperor’s physician proved
that the monarch’s love was not wholly dead.
But Barbara’s outbreak now came at an opportune
time, for yesterday, by the leech’s suggestion,
and with the express approval of the Emperor, one
of the Dominican nuns, Sister Hyacinthe, had come
from the Convent of the Holy Cross and, with quiet
dignity, assumed her office of nurse beside her charge’s
sick-bed. This forced Fran Lerch into a position
which did not suit her, and as, soon after Barbara’s
outbreak, Dr. Mathys sternly ordered her to adopt a
more quiet and modest bearing, she declared that she
would not bear such insult and abuse, hastily packed
her property, and returned to the Grieb with a much
larger amount of luggage than she had brought with
her.

Page 226

Sister Hyacinthe now ruled alone in the sickroom,
and the calm face of the nun, whose cap concealed
hair already turning gray, exerted as soothing an
influence upon the patient as her low, pleasant voice.
She was the daughter of a knightly race, and had taken
the veil from a deep inward vocation, as one of the
elect who, in following Christ, forget themselves,
in order to dedicate to her suffering neighbours all
her strength and the great love which filled her heart.
They were her world, and her sole pleasure was to
satisfy the compassionate impulse in her own breast
by severe toil, by tender solicitude, by night watching,
and by exertions often continued to actual suffering.
Death, into whose face she had looked beside so many
sickbeds, was to her a kind friend who held the key
of the eternal home where the Divine Bridegroom awaited
her.

The events occurring in the world, whether peace reigned
or the nations were at war with one another, affected
her only so far as they were connected with her patient.
Her thoughts and acts, all her love and solicitude,
referred solely to the invalid in her care.

The departure of Frau Lerch was a relief to her mind,
and it seemed an enigma that Barbara, whose beauty
increased her interest, and whom the physician had
extolled as a famous singer, could have given her
confidence, in her days of health, to this woman.

Sister Hyacinthe’s appearance beside her couch
had at first perplexed Barbara, because she had not
asked for her; but the mere circumstance that her
lover had sent her rendered it easy to treat the nun
kindly, and the tireless, experienced, and invariably
cheerful nurse soon became indispensable.

On the whole, both the leech and Sister Hyacinthe
could call Barbara a docile patient, and she often
subjected herself to a restraint irksome to her vivacious
temperament, because she felt how much gratitude she
owed to both.

Not until the fever reached its height did her turbulent
nature assert its full power, and the experienced
disciple of the art of healing had seen few invalids
rave more wildly.

The delusions that tortured her were by no means varied,
for all revolved about the person of her imperial
lover and her art. But under the most careful
nursing her strong constitution resisted even the most
violent attacks of the fever, and when June was drawing
toward an end all danger seemed over.

Dr. Mathys had already permitted her to sit out of
doors, and informed the Emperor that there was no
further occasion for fear.

The monarch expressed his gratification but, instead
of asking more particularly about the progress of
her convalescence, he hastily turned the conversation
to his own health.

Page 227

Dr. Mathys regretted this for the sake of the beautiful
neglected creature, who had won his sympathy, but
it did not surprise him, for duty after duty now filled
every hour of Charles’s day. Besides, on
the day after to-morrow, the fourth of July, the marriages
of his two nieces were to take place, and he himself
was to accompany the bridal procession and attend
the wedding. On the fifth the Reichstag would
be opened, and the Duke of Alba, with several experienced
colonels, had arrived as harbingers of the approaching
war. Where this stern and tried general appeared,
thoughts of war began to stir, and already men equipped
with helmets and armour began to be seen in unusual
numbers in all the streets and squares of Ratisbon.

The Emperor’s room, too, had an altered aspect,
for, instead of a few letters and despatches, his
writing-table was now covered not only with maps and
plans, but lists and tables referring to the condition
of his army.

What could the health of a half-convalescent girl
now be to the man to whom even his most trusted friend
would no longer have dared to mention her as his favourite?

Of course, Dr. Mathys told Barbara nothing about the
Emperor’s lack of interest, for any strong mental
excitement might still be injurious to her. Besides,
he was a reserved man, who said little more to Barbara
than was necessary. Toward the Emperor Charles
he imposed a certain restraint upon himself; but the
royal adept in reading human nature knew that in him
he possessed one of the most loyal servants, and gave
him his entire confidence. For his sake alone
this wealthy scholar devoted himself to the laborious
profession which so often kept him from library and
laboratory. Although his smooth, brown hair had
turned gray long ago, he had never married, for he
had decided in the Emperor’s favour—­this
Charles knew also—­whenever the choice presented
itself to follow his royal patient during his journeys
and expeditions or to find rest and comfort in a home
of his own.

The calm, kindly manner of this far-famed physician
very soon gained a great influence over the vivacious
Barbara. Since she had felt sure of his good
will, she had willingly obeyed him. Though he
was often obliged to shake his finger at her and tell
her how much she herself could contribute toward regaining
freedom of motion and the use of her voice, she really
did nothing which he could seriously censure, and thus
her recovery progressed in the most favourable manner
until the wedding day was close at hand.

She had already been permitted to receive visits from
old acquaintances and, without saying much herself,
listen to the news they brought. The little Maltese,
Hannibal, had also appeared again, and the lively boy
told her many things which Gombert and Appenzelder
had not mentioned.

Page 228

The morning of the day before the princesses’
marriage he informed her, among other things, that
the bridal procession would march the following morning.
It was to start from the cathedral square and go to
Prebrunn, where it would turn back and disband in
front of the Town Hall. All the distinguished
noblemen and ladies who had come to Ratisbon to attend
the wedding and the Reichstag would show themselves
to the populace on this occasion, and it was even
said that the Emperor intended to lead the train with
his royal brother. It must pass by the garden;
but the road could scarcely be seen from the little
castle—­the lindens, beeches, and elms were
too tall and their foliage was too thick to permit
it.

This news destroyed Barbara’s composure.
Though she had slept well during the past few nights,
on this one slumber deserted her. She could not
help thinking constantly of the possibility that the
Emperor might be present in the procession, and to
see her lover again was the goal of her longing.

Even in the morning, while the physician permitted
her to remain in the open air because the clay was
hot and still, the bridal procession was continually
in her thoughts. Yet she did not utter a word
in allusion to it.

At the noon meal she ate so little that Sister Hyacinthe
noticed it, and anxiously asked if she felt worse;
but Barbara reassured her and, after a short rest
in the house, she asked to be taken out again under
the lindens where she had reclined in an armchair
that morning.

Scarcely had she seated herself when all the bells
in the city began to ring, and the heavy ordnance
and howitzers shook the air with their thunder.

What a festal alarum!

How vividly it reminded her of the brilliant exhibitions
and festivities which she had formerly attended!

She listened breathlessly to the sounds from the city,
and now a distant blare of trumpets drowned the dull
roar of the ordnance and the sharp rattle of the culverins.

The confused blending of many human voices reached
her from beyond the garden wall.

The road must be full of people. Now single shrill
trumpet notes echoed from afar amid the trombones
and the dull roll of the drums, the noise increasing
every moment. From a large, old beech tree close
to the wall, into which a dozen lads had climbed,
she already saw handkerchiefs waving and heard the
shouts of clear, boyish voices.

Sister Hyacinthe had just gone into the house, and
like an illumination the thought darted through Barbara’s
mind that the road could be seen from the little summer
house which the reverend owner of the castle called
his “frigidarium,” because it was cool
even during the warmest summer day.

It was a small, towerlike building close to the garden
wall, whose single inner room was designed to imitate
a rock cave. The walls were covered with tufa
and stalagmites, shells, mountain crystals, and corals,
and from the lofty ceiling hung large stalactites.
From one of the walls a fountain plashed into a large
shell garlanded with green aquatic plants and tenanted
by several goldfish and frogs.

Page 229

The single open window resembled a cleft in the rocks,
and looked out upon the road. Blocks of stone,
flung one upon another without regard to order, formed
steps from which to look out of doors.

These stairs afforded a view of the road to the city.
Barbara had often used them when watching in the dusk
of evening for her lover’s litter or, at a still
later hour, for the torch-bearers who preceded it.

She could already walk firmly enough to mount the
few rough steps which led to the opening in the rocks
and, obeying the tameless yearning of her heart, she
rose from the arm-chair and walked as rapidly as her
feeble strength permitted toward the frigidarium.

It was more difficult to traverse the path, illumined
by the hot July sun, than she had expected; but the
pealing of the bells and the roar of the cannon continued,
and now it was drowned by the fanfare of the trumpets
and the shouts of the people.

All this thundering, ringing, clashing, chiming, and
cheering was a greeting to him for the sight of whom
her whole being so ardently longed; and when, halfway
down the path, she felt the need of resting on a bench
under a weeping ash, she did not obey it, but forced
herself to totter on.

Drops of perspiration covered her forehead when she
entered the frigidarium, but there the most delicious
coolness greeted her. Here, too, however, she
could allow herself no rest, for the boys in the top
of the beech, and some neighbouring trees, were already
shouting their clear voices hoarse and waving caps
and branches.

With trembling knees she forced herself to climb one
after another of the blocks that formed the staircase.
When a slight faintness attacked her, a stalactite
afforded her support, and it passed as quickly as it
came. Now she had reached her goal. The
rock on which she stood gave her feet sufficient support,
as it had done many times before.

Barbara needed a few minutes in this wonderfully cool
atmosphere to recover complete self-control.
Only the wild pulsation of her heart still caused
a painful feeling; but if she was permitted to see
the object of her love once more, the world might
go to ruin and she with it.

Now she gazed from the lofty window over the open
country.

She had come just at the right time. Imperial
halberdiers and horse guards, galloping up and down,
kept the centre of the road free. On the opposite
side of the highway which she overlooked was a dense,
countless multitude of citizens, peasants, soldiers,
monks, women, and children, who with difficulty resisted
the pressure of those who stood behind them, shoulder
to shoulder, head to head. Barbara from her lofty
station saw hats, barets, caps, helmets, women’s
caps and coifs, fair and red hair on uncovered heads
and, in the centre of many, the priestly tonsure.

Then a column of dust advanced along the road from
which the fanfare resounded like the scream of the
hawk from the gray fog. A few minutes later,
the cloud vanished; but the shouts of the multitude
increased to loud cheers when the heralds who rode
at the head of the procession appeared and raised
their long, glittering trumpets to their lips.
Behind them, on spirited stallions, rode the wedding
marshals, members of royal families, in superb costumes
with bouquets of flowers on their shoulders.

Page 230

Now the tumult died away for a few minutes, and Barbara
felt as though her heart stood still, for the two
stately men on splendid chargers who now, after a
considerable interval, followed them, were the royal
brothers, the Emperor Charles and King Ferdinand.

The man for whom Barbara’s soul longed, as well
as her eyes, rode on the side toward her.

He was still half concealed by dust, but it could
be no one else, for now the outburst of enthusiasm,
joy, and reverence from the populace reached its climax.
It seemed as though the very trees by the wayside joined
in the limitless jubilation. The greatness of
the sovereign, the general, and the happy head of
the family, made the Protestants around him forget
with what perils this monarch threatened their faith
and thereby themselves; and he, too, the defender
and loyal son of the Church, appeared to thrust aside
the thought that the people who greeted him with such
impetuous delight, and shared the two-fold festival
of his family with such warm devotion, were heretics
who deserved punishment. At least he saluted
with gracious friendliness the throng that lined both
sides of the road, and as he passed by the garden
of the little castle he even smiled, and glanced toward
the building as though a pleasant memory had been
awakened in his mind. At this moment Barbara gazed
into the Emperor’s face.

Those were the features which had worn so tender an
expression when, for the first time, he had uttered
the never-to-be-forgotten “Because I long for
love,” and her yearning heart throbbed no less
quickly now than on that night. The wrong and
suffering which he had inflicted upon her were forgotten.
She remembered nothing save that she loved him, that
he was the greatest and, to her, the dearest of all
men.

It was perfectly impossible for him to see her, but
she did not think of that; and when he looked toward
her with such joyous emotion, and the cheers of the
populace, like a blazing fire which a gust of wind
fans still higher, outstripped, as it were, themselves,
she could not have helped joining in the huzzas and
shouts and acclamations around her though she had
been punished with imprisonment and death.

And clinging more firmly to the stalactite, Barbara
rose on tiptoe and mingled her voice with the joyous
cheers of the multitude.

In the act her breath failed, and she felt a sharp
pain in her chest, but she heeded the suffering as
little as she did the weakness of her limbs.
The physical part of her being seemed asleep or dead.
Nothing was awake or living except her soul.
Nothing stirred within her breast save the rapture
of seeing him again, the indescribable pleasure of
showing that she loved him.

Already she could no longer see his face, already
the dust had concealed him and his charger from her
eyes, yet still, filled with peerless happiness, she
shouted “Charles!” and again and again
“Charles!” It seemed to her as though
the air or some good spirit insist bear the cry to
him and assure him of her ardent, inextinguishable
love.

Page 231

The charming royal brides, radiant in their jewels,
their betrothed husbands, and the lords and ladies
of their magnificent train passed Barbara like shadows.
The procession of German, Spanish, Hungarian, Bohemian,
and Italian dignitaries swam in a confused medley before
her eyes. The glittering armour of the princes,
counts, and barons, the gems on the heads, the robes,
and the horses’ trappings of the ladies and the
Magyar magnates flashed brightly before her, the red
hats and robes of the cardinals gleamed out, but usually
everything that her eyes beheld mingled in a single
motley, shining, moving, many-limbed body.

The end of the procession was now approaching, and
physical weakness suddenly asserted itself most painfully.

Barbara felt only too plainly that it was time to
leave her post of observation; her feet would scarcely
carry her and, besides, she was freezing.

She had entered the damp cave chamber in a thin summer
gown, and it now seemed to be continually growing
colder and colder.

Climbing down the high steps taxed her like a difficult,
almost impossible task, and perhaps she might not
have succeeded in accomplishing it unaided; but she
had scarcely commenced the descent when she heard
her name called, and soon after Sister Hyacinthe entered
the frigidarium and, amid no lack of kindly reproaches,
helped her to reach the open air.

When even in the warm sunshine the chill did not pass
away, Barbara saw that the sister was right, yet she
was far from feeling repentant.

During the night a violent attack of fever seized
her, and her inflamed throat was extremely painful.

When Dr. Mathys came to her bedside he already knew
from the nun the cause of this unfortunate relapse,
and he understood only too well what had induced Barbara
to commit the grave imprudence. Reproof and warnings
were useless here; the only thing he could do was to
act, and renew the conflict with the scarcely subdued
illness. Thanks to his indefatigable zeal, to
the girl’s strong constitution, and to the watchful
care of the nurse, he won the victory a second time.
Yet he could not rejoice in a complete triumph, for
the severe inflammation of the bronchial tubes had
caused a hoarseness which would yield to none of his
remedies. It might last a long time, and the
thought that the purity of his patient’s voice
was perhaps forever destroyed occasioned sincere regret.

True, he opposed the girl when she expressed this
fear; but as July drew to its close, and her voice
still remained husky, he scarcely hoped to be able
to restore the old melody. In other respects he
might consider Barbara cured, and intrust her entire
convalescence to her own patience and caution.

Perhaps the ardent desire to regain the divine gift
of song would protect her from perilous ventures like
this last one, and even more certainly the hope which
she had confided to the nun and then to him also.
The physician noticed, with warm sympathy, how deeply
this mysterious expectation had influenced her excitable
nature, ever torn by varying emotions, and the excellent
man was ready to aid her as a friend and intercessor.

Page 232

Unfortunately, just at this time the pressure of business
allowed the Emperor little leisure to listen to the
voice of the heart.

The day before yesterday the Elector John Frederick
of Saxony and the Landgrave Philip of Hesse had been
banned, and with this the war began.

Already twelve troops of Spaniards who had served
in Hungary, and other bands of soldiers had entered
Ratisbon; cannon came up the Danube from Austria,
and the city, had gained a warlike aspect. To
disturb the Emperor in his work as a general at such
a time, with a matter which must agitate him so deeply,
was hazardous, and few would have been bold enough
to bring it before the overburdened monarch; but the
leech’s interest in Barbara was so warm and
sincere that he allowed himself to be persuaded to
act the mediator between her and the man who had interfered
so deeply in the destiny of her life. For the
first time he saw her weep, and her winning manner
seemed to him equally touching, whether she yielded
to anxious distress of mind or to joyous hopes.

His intercession in her behalf would permit no delay,
for the Emperor’s departure to join the troops
was close at hand.

Firmly resolved to plead the cause of the unfortunate
girl, whose preservation, he might say, was his work,
yet with slight hope of success, he crossed the threshold
of the imperial apartments.

When the physician informed the sovereign that Barbara
might be considered saved for the second time, the
latter expressed his pleasure by a warm “We
are indebted to you for it again “; but when
Mathys asked if he did not intend to hasten Barbara’s
recovery by paying her a visit, though only for a
few moments, the Emperor looked into the grave countenance
of the physician, in whom he noticed an embarrassment
usually foreign to him, and said firmly, “Unfortunately,
my dear Mathys, I must deny myself this pleasure.”

The other bowed with a sorrowful face, for Barbara’s
dearest wish had been refused. But the Emperor
saw what was passing in the mind of the man whom he
esteemed, and in a lighter tone added: “So
even your invulnerable dragon hide was not proof against
the shafts—­you know! If I see aright,
something else lies near your heart. My refusal—­that
is easily seen—­annoys you; but, much as
I value your good opinion, Mathys, it is firm.
The more difficult I found it to regain my peace of
mind, the more foolish it would be to expose it to
fresh peril. Now, if ever, I must shun every
source of agitation. Think! With the banning,
the general’s work begins. How you look
at me! Well, yes! You, too, know how easy
it is for the man who has most to do to spare a leisure
hour which the person without occupation does not
find, and neither of us is accustomed to deceive the
other. Besides, it would be of little avail.
So, to cut the matter short, I am unwilling to see
Barbara again and awaken false hopes in her mind!
But even these plain words do not seem to satisfy you.”

Page 233

“By your Majesty’s permission,”
replied the leech, “deeply as I regret it for
the invalid’s sake, I believe, on the contrary,
that you are choosing the right course. But I
have only discharged the first part of my patient’s
commission. Though I have no pleasant tidings
to take back to her, I am still permitted to tell
her the truth. But your Majesty, by avoiding
an interview with the poor girl, will spare yourself
a sad, nay, perhaps a painful hour.”

“Did the disease so cruelly mar this masterpiece
of the Creator?” asked the Emperor. “With
so violent a fever it was only too natural,”
replied the physician. “Time and what our
feeble skill can do will improve her condition, I
hope, but—­and this causes the poor girl
the keenest suffering—­the unfortunate inflammation
of the bronchial tubes most seriously injures the
tone of her clear voice.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the startled Emperor with
sincere compassion. “Do everything in your
power, Mathys, to purify this troubled spring of melody.
I will repay you with my warmest gratitude, for, though
the Romans said that Cupid conquered through the eyes,
yet Barbara’s singing exerted a far more powerful
influence over my heart than even her wonderful golden
hair. Restore the melting tones of her voice and,
though the bond of love which rendered this month
of May so exquisitely beautiful to us must remain
severed, I will not fail to remember it with all graciousness.”

“That, your Majesty, can scarcely be avoided,”
the physician here remarked with an embarrassment
which was new in him to Charles, “for the continuance
of the memory of the spring days which your Majesty
recalls with such vivid pleasure seems to be assured.
Yet, if it pleases Heaven, as I have learned to-day
for the first time, to call a living being into existence
for this purpose——­”

“If I understand you correctly,” cried
the Emperor, starting up, “I am to believe in
hopes——­”

“In hopes,” interrupted the physician
with complete firmness, “which must not alarm
your Majesty, but render you happy. This new branch
of the illustrious trunk of your royal race I, who
am only 30 a plain man, hail with proud joy, and half
the world, I know, will do so with me.”

Charles, with brows contracted in a gloomy frown,
gazed for a long time into vacancy.

The leech perceived how mighty a conflict between
contradictory emotions would be waged in his breast,
and silently gave him time to collect his thoughts.

At last, rising from his arm-chair, the Emperor struck
the table with his open hand, and said: “Whether
the Lord our God awoke this new life for our punishment
or our pleasure the future will teach. What more
must be done in this matter? You know my custom
in regard to such important affairs. They are
slept upon and maturely considered. Only there
is one point,” and as he uttered the words his
voice assumed an imperious tone, “which is already
irrevocably decided. The world must not suspect
what hope offers itself to me and another. Tell
her, Mathys, we wish her happiness; but if her maternal
heart expects that I will do her child the honour
of calling it mine, I must require her to keep silence,
and intrust the newborn infant’s destiny, from
the first hour of its birth, to my charge.”

Page 234

Here he hesitated, and, after looking the physician
in the face, went on: “You again think
that harsh, Mathys—­I see it in your expression—­but,
as my friend, you yourself can scarcely desire the
world to see the Emperor Charles performing the same
task with a Barbara Blomberg. She is free to
choose. Either I will rear the child, whether
it is a boy or a girl, as my own, as I did my daughter,
Duchess Margaret of Parma, or she will refuse to give
me the child from its birth and I must deny it recognition.
I have already shared far too much with that tempting
creature; I can not permit even this new dispensation
to restore my severed relationship with the singer.
If Barbara’s maternal love is unselfish, the
choice can not be difficult for her. That the
charge of providing for this new life will fall upon
me is a matter of course. Tell her this, Mathys,
and if in future—­But no. We will confide
this matter to Quijada.”

As the door closed behind the physician, Charles stood
motionless. Deep earnestness furrowed his brow,
but suddenly an expression of triumphant joy flashed
over his face, and then yielded to a look of grateful
satisfaction. Soon, however, his lofty brow clouded
again, and his lower lip protruded. Some idea
which excited his indignation must have entered his
mind. He had just been thinking with the warmest
joy of the gift of Fate of which the physician had
told him, but now the reasons which forbade his offering
it a sincere welcome crowded upon the thinker.

If Heaven bestowed a son upon him, would not only
the Church, but also the law, which he knew so well,
refuse to recognise his rights? A child whose
mother had offended him, whose grandfather was a ridiculous,
impoverished old soldier, whose cousins——­

Yet for what did he possess the highest power on earth
if he would not use it to place his own child, in
spite of every obstacle, at the height of earthly
grandeur?

What need he care for the opinion of the world?
And yet, yet——­

Then there was a great bustle below. The loud
tramping of horses’ hoofs was heard. A
troop of Lombardy cavalry in full armour appeared on
the Haidplatz—­fresh re-enforcements for
the war just commencing. The erect figure of
the Duke of Alba, a man of middle height, followed
by several colonels, trotted toward it. The standard-bearer
of the Lombards lowered the banner with the picture
of the Madonna before the duke, and the Emperor involuntarily
glanced back into the room at the lovely Madonna and
Child by the master hand of Giovanni Bellini which
his royal sister had hung above his writing table.

How grave and lovely, yet how full of majesty, the
Christ-child looked, how touching a grace surrounded
the band of angels playing on violins above the purest
of mothers!

Then the necessity of appealing to her in prayer seized
upon him, and with fervent warmth he besought her
to surround with her gracious protection the young
life which owed its existence to him.

Page 235

He did not think of the child’s mother.
Was he still angry with her?

Did she seem to him unworthy of being commended to
the protection of the Queen of Heaven? Barbara
was now no more to him than a cracked bell, and the
child which she expected to give him, no matter to
what high’ honours he raised it, would bear
a stain that nothing could efface, and this stain
would be called “his mother.”

No deviation from the resolve which he had expressed
to the physician was possible. The child could
not be permitted to grow up amid Barbara’s surroundings.
To prevent this she must submit to part from her son
or her daughter, and to take the veil. In the
convent she could remember the happiness which had
once raised her to its loftiest height. She could
and must atone for her sin and his by prayers and
pious exercises. To return to the low estate
whence he had raised her must appear disgraceful to
herself. How could one who had once dined at the
table of the gods still relish the fare of mortals?
Even now it seemed inconceivable to him that she could
oppose his will. Yet if she did, he would withdraw
his aid. He no longer loved her. In this
hour she was little more to him than the modest casket
to which was confided a jewel of inestimable value,
an object of anxiety and care. The determination
which he had confided to his physician was as immovable
as everything which he had maturely considered.
Don Luis Quijada should provide for its execution.

CHAPTER IV.

Dr. Mathys had himself carried in the litter from
the Golden Cross to Barbara.

This errand was a disagreeable one, for, though the
Emperor’s remark that he had yielded to the
rare charm of this woman was not true, his kindly
heart had become warmly attached to Barbara. For
the first time he saw in her the suffering which often
causes a metamorphosis in certain traits in a sick
person’s character extend their transforming
power to the entire nature. Passionate love for
her art gave her the ability to maintain with punctilious
exactness the silence which he had been compelled to
impose upon her, and the once impetuous, obstinate
creature obeyed his directions and wishes with the
patience of a docile child.

The manner in which, after he permitted her to speak,
she had disclosed in a low whisper her happy yet disquieting
secret, hovered before him now as one of the most
pathetic incidents in a life full of varied experiences.

How touchingly deep misery and the greatest rapture,
gloomy anxiety and radiant joy, bitter dread and sweet
anticipation, despairing helplessness and firm confidence
had looked forth at him from the beautiful face whose
noble outlines were made still more delicate by the
illness through which she had passed! He could
not have refused even a more difficult task to this
petitioner.

Now he was returning from the Emperor, and he felt
like a vanquished general.

Page 236

In what form was he to clothe the bad news which he
was bringing to the convalescent girl? Poor child!
How heavily she had to atone for her sin, and how
slight was his own and every other influence upon the
man, great even in his selfishness, who had had the
power to render him a messenger of joy!

While the physician was approaching the little castle,
she of whom he was so eagerly thinking awaited his
return with feverish suspense. Yet she was obliged
at this very time to devote herself to a visitor.
True, he was the only person whom she would not have
refused to see at this hour.

Wolf Hartschwert was with her.

His first errand after the period of severe suffering
through which he had passed was to Barbara, earnestly
as old Ursel had endeavoured to prevent him.

He had found her under a linden tree in the garden.

How they had met again!

Wolf, pale and emaciated, advanced toward her, leaning
on a cane, while Barbara, with slightly flushed cheeks,
reclined upon the pillows which Sister Hyacinthe had
just arranged for her.

Her head seemed smaller, her features had become more
delicate and, in spite of the straw hat which protected
her from the dazzling sunshine, he perceived that
her severe illness had cost her her magnificent golden
hair. Still wavy, it now fell only to her neck,
and gave her the appearance of a wonderfully handsome
boy.

The hand she extended to him was transparently thin,
and when he clasped it in his, which was only a little
larger, and did not seem much stronger, and she had
hoarsely whispered a friendly greeting, his eyes filled
with tears. For a time both were silent.
Barbara was the first to find words and, raising her
large eyes beseechingly to his, said: “If
you come to reproach me—­But no! You
look pale, as though you had only partially recovered
yourself, yet kind and friendly. Perhaps you do
not know that it was through my fault that all these
terrible things have befallen you.”

Here a significant smile told her that he was much
better informed than she supposed, and, lowering her
eyes in timid embarrassment, she asked,

“Then you know who it was for whom this foolish
heart——­”

Here her breath failed, and while she pressed her
hand upon her bosom, Wolf said softly: “If
you had only trusted me before! Many things would
not have happened, and much suffering might have been
spared. You did wrong, Wawerl, certainly, but
my guilt is the greater, and we were both punished—­oh,
how sorely!”

Barbara, amid low sobbing, nodded assent, but he eagerly
continued: “Quijada confided everything
to me, and if he—­you know—­now
forgets all other matters in the war and the anxieties
of the general, and, you need my counsel and aid,
we will let what came between us he buried, and think
that we are brother and sister.”

Page 237

The girl held out her hand to him, saying: “How
long you have been a brother to me! But, as for
your advice—­Holy Virgin!—­I know
now less than ever how I am to fare; but I shall soon
learn. I can say no more. It must be a severe
trial to listen to me. Such a raven’s croak
from the throat which usually gave you pleasure, and
to which you gladly listened! Shall I myself
ever grow accustomed to this discord? And you?
Answer honestly—­I should like to know whether
it is very, very terrible to hear.”

“You are still hoarse,” was the reply.
“Such things pass away in a few weeks, and it
will again be a pleasure to hear you sing.”

“Do you really think so?” she cried with
sparkling, eyes.

“Firmly and positively,” answered the
young knight in a tone of most honest conviction;
but she repeated in joyous excitement, “Firmly
and positively,” and then eagerly continued:
“Oh, if you should be right, Wolf, how happy
and grateful I would be, in spite of everything!
But I can talk no longer now. Come again to-morrow,
and then the oftener the better.”

“Unfortunately, that can not be, gladly as I
would do so,” he answered sadly, extending his
hand in farewell. “In a few days I shall
return to Brussels.”

“To remain with the regent?” asked Barbara
eagerly.

“No,” he answered firmly. “After
a short stay with her Majesty, I shall enter the service
of Don Luis Quijada, or rather of his wife.”

“O-o-oh!” she murmured slowly. “The
world seems wholly strange to me after my long illness.
I must first collect my thoughts, and that is now
utterly impossible. To-morrow, Wolf! Won’t
you come to-morrow? Then I shall know better
what is before me. Thanks, cordial thanks, and
if tomorrow I deny myself to every one else, I will
admit you.”

After Wolf had gone, Barbara gazed fixedly into vacancy.
What did the aspiring young musician seek with a nobleman’s
wife in a lonely Spanish castle? Were his wings
broken, too, and did he desire only seclusion and
quiet?

But the anxiety which dominated her mind prevented
her pursuing the same thought longer. Dr. Mathys
had promised to tell her the result of his conversation
with the Emperor as soon as possible, and yet he had
not returned.

Fool that she was!

Even on a swift steed he could not have traversed
the road back to the castle if he had been detained
only half an hour in the Golden Cross. It was
impatience which made the minutes become quarters of
an hour. She would have liked to go to the cool
frigidarium again to watch for the physician’s
litter; but she was warned, and had accustomed herself
to follow the doctor’s directions as obediently
as a dutiful child. Besides, Sister Hyacinthe
no longer left her alone out of doors, and possessed
a reliable representative, who had won Barbara’s
confidence and affection, in Frau Lamperi, the garde-robiere,
whom the Queen of Hungary had not yet summoned.

Page 238

So she remained under the linden, and Dr. Mathys did
not put her newly won virtue of patience, which he
prized so highly, to too severe a trial.

Fran Lamperi had watched for him, and hastily announced
that his litter had already passed the Reichart pottery.

Now Barbara did not turn her eyes from the garden
door through which the man she ardently longed to
see usually came, and when it opened and the stout,
broad-shouldered leech, with his peaked doctor’s
hat, long staff, and fine linen kerchief in his right
hand advanced toward her, she motioned to the nun
and the maid to leave them, and pressed her left hand
upon her heart, for her emotion at the sight of him
resembled the feeling of the prisoner who expects
the paper with which the judge enters his cell to
contain his death-warrant.

She thought she perceived her own in the physician’s
slow, almost lagging step. His gait was always
measured; but if he had had good news to bring, he
would have approached more rapidly. A sign, a
gesture, a shout would have informed her that he was
bearing something cheering.

But there was nothing of this kind.

He did not raise his hat until he stood directly in
front of her, and while mopping his broad, clamp brow
and plump cheeks with his handkerchief, she read in
his features the confirmation of her worst fears.

Now in his grave voice, which sounded still deeper
than usual, he uttered a curt “Well, it can’t
be helped,” and shrugged his shoulders sorrowfully.

This gesture destroyed her last hope. Unable
to control herself longer, she cried out in the husky
voice whose hoarse tone was increased by her intense
agitation: “I see it in your face, Doctor;
I must be prepared for the worst.”

“Would to Heaven I could deny it!” he
answered in a hollow tone; but Barbara urged him to
speak and conceal nothing from her, not even the harshest
news.

The leech obeyed.

With sincere compassion he saw how her face blanched
at his information that, owing to the pressure of
duties which the commencement of the war imposed upon
him, his Majesty would be unable to visit her here.
But when, to sweeten the bitter potion, he had added
that when her throat was well again, and her voice
had regained its former melody, the monarch would
once more gladly listen to her, he was startled; for,
instead of answering, she merely shrugged her shoulders
contemptuously, while her face grew corpselike in
its pallor. He would have been best pleased to
end his report here, but she could not be spared the
suffering to which she was doomed, and pity demanded
that the torture should be ended as quickly as possible.
So, to raise her courage, he began with the Emperor’s
congratulations, and while her eyes were sparkling
brightly and her pale cheeks were crimsoned by a fleeting
flush, he went on, as considerately as he could, to
inform her of the Emperor’s resolution, not
neglecting while he did so to place it in a milder
light by many a palliating remark.

Page 239

Barbara, panting for breath, listened to his report
without interrupting him; but as the physician thought
he perceived in the varying expression of her features
and the wandering glance with which she listened tokens
that she did not fully understand what the Emperor
required of her, he summed up his communications once
more.

“His Majesty,” he concluded, “was
ready to recognise as his own the young life to be
expected, if she would keep the secret, and decide
to commit it to his sole charge from its arrival in
the world; but, on the other hand, he would refuse
this to her and to the child if she did not agree
to impose upon herself sacrifice and silence.”

At this brief, plain statement Barbara had pressed
her hands upon her temples and stretched her head
far forward toward the physician. Now she lowered
her right hand, and with the question, “So this
is what I must understand?” impetuously struck
herself a blow on the forehead.

The patient man again raised his voice to make the
expression of the monarch’s will still plainer,
but she interrupted him after the first few words
with the exclamation: “You can spare yourself
this trouble, for the meaning of the man whose message
you bear is certainly evident enough. What my
poor intellect fails to comprehend is only—­do
you hear?—­is only where the faithless traitor
gains the courage to make me so unprecedented a demand.
Hitherto I was only not wicked enough to know that
there—­there was such an abyss of abominable
hard-heartedness, such fiendish baseness, such——­”

Here an uncontrollable fit of coughing interrupted
her, but Dr. Mathys would have stopped her in any
case; it was unendurable to him to listen longer while
the great man who was the Emperor, and whom he also
honoured as a man, was reviled with such savage recklessness.

As in so many instances, Charles’s penetration
had been superior to his; for he had not failed to
notice to what tremendous extremes this girl’s
hasty temper could carry her. What burning, almost
evil passion had flamed in her eyes while uttering
these insults! How perfectly right his Majesty
was to withdraw from all association with a woman of
so irresponsible a nature!

He repressed with difficulty the indignation which
had overpowered him until her coughing ceased, then,
in a tone of stern reproof, he declared that he could
not and ought not to listen to such words. She
whom the Emperor Charles had honoured with his love
would perhaps in the future learn to recognise his
decision as wise, though it might offend her now.
When she had conquered the boundless impetuosity which
so ill beseemed her, she herself would probably perceive
how immeasurably deep and wide was the gulf which
separated her from the sacred person of the man who,
next to God, was the highest power on earth. Not
only justice but duty would command the head of the
most illustrious family in the world to claim the
sole charge of his child, that it might be possible
to train it unimpeded to the lofty position of the
father, instead of the humble one of the mother.

Page 240

Hitherto Barbara had remained silent, but her breath
had come more and more quickly, the tremor of the
nostrils had increased; but at the physician’s
last remark she could control herself no longer, and
burst forth like a madwoman: “And you pretend
to be my friend, pretend to be a fairminded man?
You are the tool, the obedient echo of the infamous
wretch who now stretches his robber hand toward my
most precious possession! Ay, look at me as though
my frank speech was rousing the greatest wrath in
your cowardly soul! Where was the ocean-deep gulf
when the perjured betrayer clasped me in his arms,
uttered vows of love, and called himself happy because
his possession of me would beautify the evening of
his life? Now my voice has lost its melting music,
and he sends his accomplice to leave the mute ’nightingale’—­how
often he has called me so!—­to her fate.”

Here she faltered, and her cheeks glowed with excitement
as, with her clinched hand on her brow, she continued:
“Must everything be changed and overturned because
this traitor is the Emperor, and the betrayed only
the child of a man who, though plain, is worthy of
all honour, and who, besides, was not found on the
highway, but belongs to the class of knights, from
whom even the proudest races of sovereigns descend?
You trample my father and me underfoot, to exalt the
grandeur of your master. You make him the idol,
to humble me to a worm; and what you grant the she-wolf—­the
right of defence when men undertake to rob her of her
young—­you deny me, and, because I insist
upon it, I must be a deluded, unbridled creature.”

Here she sobbed aloud and covered her face with her
hands; but Dr. Mathys had been obliged to do violence
to his feelings in order not to put a speedy end to
the fierce attack. Her glance had been like that
of an infuriated wild beast as the rage in her soul
burst forth with elementary power, and the sharpness
of her hoarse voice still pierced him to the heart.

Probably the man of honour whom she had so deeply-insulted
felt justified in paying her in the same coin, but
the mature and experienced physician knew how much
he must place to the account of the physical condition
of this unfortunate girl, and did not conceal from
himself that her charges were not wholly unjustifiable.
So he restrained himself, and when she had gained
control over the convulsive sobbing which shook her
bosom, he told her his intention of leaving her and
not returning until he could expect a less hostile
reception. Meanwhile she might consider whether
the Emperor’s decision was not worthy of different
treatment. He would show his good will to her
anew by concealing from his Majesty what he had just
heard, and what she, at no distant day, would repent
as unjust and unworthy of her.

Then Barbara angrily burst forth afresh: “Never,
never, never will that happen! Neither years
nor decades would efface the wrong inflicted upon
me to-day. But oh, how I hate him who makes this
shameful demand—­yes, though you devour
me with your eyes—­hate him, hate him!
I do so even more ardently than I loved him!
And you? Why should you conceal it? From
kindness to me? Perhaps so! Yet no, no, no!
Speak freely! Yes, you must, must tell him so
to his face! Do it in my name, abused, ill-treated
as I am, and tell him——­”

Page 241

Here the friendly man’s patience gave out, and,
drawing his little broad figure stiffly up, he said
repellently: “You are mistaken in me, my
dear. If you need a messenger, you must seek
some one else. You have taken care to make me
sincerely regret having discharged this office for
your sake. Besides, your recovery will progress
without my professional aid; and, moreover, I shall
leave Ratisbon with my illustrious master in a few
days.”

He turned his back upon her as he spoke. When
toward evening the Emperor asked him how Barbara had
received his decision, he shrugged his shoulders and
answered: “As was to be expected. She
thinks herself ill-used, and will not give up the
child.”

“She will have a different view in the convent,”
replied the Emperor. “Quijada shall talk
with her to-morrow, and De Soto and the pious nuns
here will show her where she belongs. The child—­that
matter is settled—­will be taken from her.”

The execution of the imperial will began on the very
next morning. First the confessor De Soto appeared,
and with convincing eloquence showed Barbara how happily
she could shape her shadowed life within the sacred
quiet of the convent. Besides, the helpless creature
whose coming she was expecting with maternal love
could rely upon the father’s recognition and
aid only on condition that she yielded to his Majesty’s
expressed will.

Barbara, though with no little difficulty, succeeded
in maintaining her composure during these counsels
and the declaration of the servant of the Holy Church.
Faithful to the determination formed during the night,
she imposed silence upon herself, and when De Soto
asked for a positive answer, she begged him to grant
her time for consideration.

Soon after Don Luis Quijada was announced. This
time he did not appear in the dark Spanish court costume,
but in the brilliant armour of the Lombard regiment
whose command had been entrusted to him.

When he saw Barbara, for the first time after many
weeks, he was startled.

Only yesterday she had seemed to Wolf Hartschwert
peerlessly beautiful, but the few hours which had
elapsed between the visit of the physician and the
major-domo had sadly changed her. Her large, bright
eyes were reddened by weeping, and the slight lines
about the corners of the mouth had deepened and lent
her a severe expression.

A hundred considerations had doubtless crowded upon
her during the night, yet she by no means repented
having showed the leech what she thought of the betrayer
in purple and the demand which he made upon her.
De Soto’s attempt at persuasion had only increased
her defiance. Instead of reflecting and thinking
of her own welfare and of the future of the beloved
being whose coming she dreaded, yet who seemed to her
the most precious gift of Heaven, she strengthened
herself more and more in the belief that it was due
to her own dignity to resist the Emperor’s cruel
encroachments upon her liberty. She knew that
she owed Dr. Mathys a debt of gratitude, but she thought
herself freed from that duty since he had made himself
the blind tool of his master.

Page 242

Now the Spaniard, who had never been her friend, also
came to urge the Emperor’s will upon her.
Toward him she need not force herself to maintain
the reserve which she had exercised in her conversation
with the confessor.

On the contrary!

He should hear, with the utmost plainness, what she
thought of the Emperor’s instructions.
If he, his confidant, then showed him that there was
one person at least who did not bow before his pitiless
power, and that hatred steeled her courage to defy
him, one of the most ardent wishes of her indignant,
deeply wounded heart would be fulfilled. The
only thing which she still feared was that her aching
throat might prevent her from freely pouring forth
what so passionately agitated her soul.

She now confronted the inflexible nobleman, not a
feature in whose clear-cut, nobly moulded, soldierly
face revealed what moved him.

When, in a businesslike tone, he announced his sovereign’s
will, she interrupted him with the remark that she
knew all this, and had determined to oppose her own
resolve to his Majesty’s wishes.

Don Luis calmly allowed her to finish, and then asked:
“So you refuse to take the veil? Yet I
think, under existing circumstances, nothing could
become you better.”

“Life in a convent,” she answered firmly,
“is distasteful to me, and I will never submit
to it. Besides, you were hardly commissioned to
discuss what does or does not become me.”

“By no means,” replied the Spaniard calmly;
“yet you can attribute the remark to my wish
to serve you. During the remainder of our conference
I will silence it, and can therefore be brief.”

“So much the better,” was the curt response.
“Well, then, so you insist that you will neither
keep the secret which you have the honour of sharing
with his Majesty, nor——­”

“Stay!” she eagerly interrupted.
“The Emperor Charles took care to make the bond
which united me to him cruelly hateful, and therefore
I am not at all anxious to inform the world how close
it once was.”

Here Don Luis bit his lips, and a frown contracted
his brow. Yet he controlled himself, and asked
with barely perceptible excitement, “Then I
may inform his Majesty that you would be disposed to
keep this secret?”

“Yes,” she answered curtly.

“But, so far as the convent is concerned, you
persist in your refusal?”

“Even a noble and kind man would never induce
me to take the veil.”

Now Quijada lost his composure, and with increasing
indignation exclaimed: “Of all the men
on earth there is probably not one who cares as little
for the opinion of an arrogant woman wounded in her
vanity. He stands so far above your judgment
that it is insulting him to undertake his defence.
In short, you will not go to the convent?”

“No, and again no!” she protested bitterly.
“Besides, your promise ought to bind you to
still greater brevity. But it seems to please
your noble nature to insult a defenceless, ill-treated
woman. True, perhaps it is done on behalf of
the mighty man who stands so far above me.”

Page 243

“How far, you will yet learn to your harm,”
replied Don Luis, once more master of himself.
“As for the child, you still seem determined
to withhold it from the man who will recognise it
as his solely on this condition?”

Barbara thought it time to drop the restraint maintained
with so much difficulty, and half with the intention
of letting Charles’s favourite hear the anguish
that oppressed her heart, half carried away by the
resentment which filled her soul, she permitted it
to overflow and, in spite of the pain which it caused
her to raise her voice, she ceased whispering, and
cried: “You ask to hear what I intend to
do? Nothing, save to keep what is mine!
Though I know how much you dislike me, Don Luis Quijada,
I call upon you to witness whether I have a right to
this child and to consideration from its father; for
when you, his messenger of love, led me for the first
time to the man who now tramples me so cruelly under
his feet, you yourself heard him greet me as the sun
which was again rising for him. But that is forgotten!
If his will is not executed, mother and child may
perish in darkness and misery. Well, then, will
against will! He has the right to cease to love
me and to thrust me from him, but it is mine to hate
him from my inmost soul, and to make my child what
I please. Let him grow up as Heaven wills, and
if he perishes in want and shame, if he is put in
the pillory or dies on the scaffold, one mission at
least will be left for me. I will shriek out to
the world how the royal betrayer provided for the
welfare of his own blood!”

“Enough!” interrupted Don Luis in mingled
wrath and horror. “I will not and can not
listen longer while gall and venom are poured upon
the sacred head of the greatest of men.”

“Then leave me!” cried Barbara, scarcely
able to use her voice. “This room, at least,
will be mine until I can no longer accept even shelter
from the traitor who—­you used the words
yourself—­instilled venom and bitter gall
into my soul.”

Quijada, with a slight bend of the head, turned and
left the room.

When the door closed behind him, Barbara, with panting
breath and flashing eyes, threw herself into an arm-chair,
content as if she had been relieved of a heavy burden,
but the Emperor’s envoy mounted the horse on
which he had come, and rode away.

He fared as the leech had done the day before.
Barbara’s infamous abuse still fired his blood,
but he could not conceal from himself that this unfortunate
woman had been wronged by his beloved and honoured
master. In truth, he had more than once heard
the ardent professions of love with which Charles
had greeted and dismissed her, and his chivalrous nature
rebelled against the severity with which he made her
suffer for the cruelty of Fate that had prematurely
robbed her of what had been to him her dearest charm.

Page 244

Before he went to Prebrunn, Dr. Mathys had counselled
him not to forget during the disagreeable reception
awaiting him that he was dealing with an irritable
invalid, and the thoroughly noble man resolved to remember
it as an excuse. The Emperor Charles should learn
only that Barbara refused to submit to his arrangements,
that his harshness deeply wounded her and excited
her quick temper. He was unwilling to expose himself
again to an outburst of her rage, and he would therefore
intrust to another the task of rendering her more
docile, and this other was Wolf Hartschwert.

A few days before he had visited the recovering knight,
and obtained from him a decision whose favourable
nature filled him with secret joy whenever he thought
of it.

Wolf had already learned from the valet Adrian the
identity of the person to whom he had been obliged
to yield precedence in Barbara’s heart, and
how generously Quijada had kept silence concerning
the wound which he had dealt him. When Don Luis
freely forgave him for the unfortunate misunderstanding
for which he, too, was not wholly free from blame,
Wolf had thrown himself on his knees and warmly entreated
him to dispose of him, who owed him more than life,
as he would of himself. Then, opening his whole
heart, he revealed what Barbara had been to him, and
how, unable to control his rage, he had rushed upon
him when he thought he had discovered, in the man
who had just asked him to go far away from the woman
he loved, her betrayer.

After this explanation, Quijada had acquiesced in
the knight’s wish that he should give him the
office offered on that luckless evening, and he now
felt disposed also to intrust to him further negotiations
with the singer.

In the report made to the Emperor, Don Luis suppressed
everything which could offend him; but Charles remained
immovable in his determination to withdraw the expected
gift of Fate, from its first entrance into the world,
from every influence except his own. Moreover,
he threatened that if the blinded girl continued to
refuse to enter the convent and yield up the child,
he would withdraw his aid from both. After a sleepless
night, however, he remarked, on the following morning,
that he perceived it to be his duty, whatever might
happen, to assume the care of the child who was entitled
to call him its father. What he would do for the
mother must depend upon her future conduct. This
was another instance how every trespass of the bounds
of the moral order which the Church ordains and hallows
entails the most sorrowful consequences even here below.
Precisely because he was so strongly attached to this
unfortunate woman, once so richly gifted, he desired
to offer her the opportunity to obtain pardon from
Heaven, and therefore insisted upon her retiring to
the convent. His own guilt was causing him great
mental trouble and, in fact, notwithstanding the arduous
labour imposed upon him by the war, the most melancholy
mood again took possession of him.

Page 245

The day before his departure to join the army which
was gathered near by at Landshut, he withdrew once
more into the apartment draped with sable hangings.

When he was informed that Barbara wished to leave
the Prebrunn castle, he burst into a furious passion,
and commanded that she should be kept there, even
if it was necessary to use force.

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Whoever will not hear,
must feel

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 8.

CHAPTER V.

Everything in Barbara’s residence had remained
as it was when she arrived, only the second story,
since the departure of the marquise, had stood empty.
Two horses had been left in the stable, the steward
performed his duties as before, the cook presided in
the kitchen, and Frau Lamperi attended to Barbara’s
rooms.

Nevertheless, at Wolf’s first visit he was obliged
to exert all his powers of persuasion to induce his
miserable friend to give up her resolution of moving
into her former home. Besides, after the conversation
with Charles’s messenger, she had felt so ill
that no visitor except himself had been received.

When, a few days later, she learned that the Emperor
had set out for Landshut, she entreated Wolf to seek
out Pyramus Kogel, for she had just learned that during
her illness her father’s travelling companion
had asked to see her, but, like every one else, had
been refused. She grieved because they had forgotten
to tell her this; but when she discovered that the
same stately officer had called again soon after the
relapse, she angrily upbraided, for the first time,
Frau Lamperi, who was to blame for the neglect, and
her grief increased when, on the same day, a messenger
brought from the man who had twice been denied admittance
a letter which inclosed one from her father, and briefly
informed her that he should set out at once for Landshut.
As she would not receive him, he must send her the
captain’s messages in this way.

It appeared from the old man’s letter that,
while leaving the ship at Antwerp, he had met with
an accident, and perhaps might long be prevented from
undertaking the toilsome journey home. But he
was well cared for, and if she was still his clear
daughter, she must treat Herr Pyramus Kogel kindly
this time, for he had proved a faithful son and good
Samaritan to him.

A stranger’s hand had written this letter, which
contained nothing more about the old soldier’s
health, but reminded her of a tin tankard which he
had forgotten to deliver, and urged her to care for
the ever-burning lamp in the chapel. It closed
with the request to offer his profound reverence at
the feet of his Majesty, the most gracious, most glorious,
and most powerful Emperor, and the remark that there
was much to say about the country of Spain, but the
best was certainly when one thought of it after turning
the back upon it.

Page 246

As a postscript, he had written with his own hand,
as the crooked letters showed: “Mind what
I told you about Sir Pyramus, without whom you would
now be a deserted orphan. Can you believe that
in all Spain there is no fresh butter to be had, either
for bread or in the kitchen for roast meat, but instead
rancid oil, which we should think just fit for burning?”

With deep shame Barbara realized through this letter
how rarely she remembered her father. Only since
she knew positively what joy and what anxiety awaited
her had she again thought frequently of him, but always
with great fear of the old man whose head had grown
gray in an honourable life. Now the hour was
approaching when she would be obliged to confess to
him what she still strove to deem a peerless favour
of Fate, for which future generations would envy her.
Perhaps he who looked up to the Emperor Charles with
such enthusiastic devotion would agree with her; perhaps
what she must disclose to him would spoil the remainder
of his life. The image of the aged sufferer,
lying in pain and sorrow far from her old his home,
in a stranger’s house, constantly forced itself
upon her, and she often dwelt upon it, imagining it
with ingenious self-torture.

Love for another had estranged her from him who possessed
the first claim to every feeling of tenderness and
gratitude in her heart. The thought that she
could do nothing for him and give him no token of her
love pierced deep into her soul. Every impulse
of her being urged her to learn further details of
him and his condition. As Pyramus Kogel was staying
in Landshut, she wrote a note entreating him, if possible,
to come to Ratisbon to tell her about her father,
or, if this could not be, to inform her by letter
how he fared.

There was no lack of messengers going to Landshut,
and the answer was not delayed. During these
war times, Pyramus answered, he was not his own master
even for a moment; therefore he must deny himself a
visit to her, and he also lacked time for a detailed
account by letter. If, however, she could resolve
to do him the honour of a visit, he would promise her
a more cordial reception than he had experienced on
her side. For the rest, her father was being
carefully nursed, and his life was no longer in danger.

At first Barbara took this letter for an ungenerous
attempt of the insulted man to repay the humiliation
which he had received from her; but the news from
the throngs of troops pouring into the city made the
officer’s request appear in a milder light, and
the longing to ascertain her father’s condition
daily increased.

At the end of the first week in August her strength
would have sufficed for the short drive to Landshut.
True, she was as hoarse as when she gave the physician
a disinclination to return, but she had regained her
physical vigour, and had taken walks, without special
fatigue, sometimes with Wolf, sometimes with Gombert.
The latter, as well as Appenzelder, still frequently
called upon her, and tried to diminish her grief over
the injury to her voice by telling her of hundreds
of similar cases which had resulted favourably.

Page 247

The musicians were to return to Brussels the next
day. Appenzelder would not leave his boy choir,
but Gombert had accepted an invitation from the Duke
of Bavaria, at whose court in Munich the best music
was eagerly fostered. His road would lead him
through Landshut, and how more than gladly Barbara
would have accompanied him there!

She must now bid farewell to Appenzelder and Massi,
and it was evident that the parting was hard for them
also. The eyes of the former even grew dim with
tears as he pressed a farewell kiss upon Barbara’s
brow. The little Maltese, Hannibal Melas, would
have preferred to stay with her—­nay, he
did not cease entreating her to keep him, though only
as a page; but how could he have been useful to her?

Finally, she was obliged to bid Wolf, too, farewell,
perhaps for many years.

During the last few days he had again proved his old
friendship in the most loyal manner. Through
Quijada he had learned everything which concerned
her and the Emperor Charles, and this had transformed
his former love for Barbara, which was by no means
dead, into tender compassion.

Not to serve the monarch or the husband of his new
mistress in Villagarcia, but merely to lighten her
own hard fate, he had not ceased to represent what
consequences it might entail upon her if she should
continue to defy the Emperor’s command so obstinately.

He, too, saw in the convent the fitting place for
her future life, now bereft of its best possessions;
but although she succeeded in retaining her composure
during his entreaties and warnings, she still most
positively refused to obey the Emperor’s order.

Her strong desire to visit Landshut was by no means
solely from the necessity of hearing the particulars
about her father, and the wish to see so brilliant
an assemblage of troops from all countries, but especially
the consuming longing to gaze once more into the face
of the lover who was now making her so miserable,
yet to whom she owed the greatest joy of her life.

And more!

She thought it would restore her peace of mind forever
if she could succeed in speaking to him for even one
brief moment and telling him what a transformation
his guilt had wrought in her ardent love and her whole
nature.

Wolf’s representations and imploring entreaties
remained as futile as those of Sister Hyacinthe and
the abbesses of the Clare Sisters and the Convent
of the Holy Cross, who had sought her by the confessor’s
wish. None of these pious women, except her nurse,
knew the hope she cherished. They saw in her
only the Emperor’s discarded love; yet as such
it seemed to them that Barbara was bidden to turn
her back upon the world, which had nothing similar
to offer her, in order, as the Saviour’s bride,
to seek a new and loftier happiness.

But Barbara’s vivacious temperament shrank from
their summons as from the tomb or the dungeon and,
with all due reverence, she said so to the kindly
nuns.

Page 248

She desired no new happiness, nay, she could not imagine
that she would ever again find joy in anything save
the heavenly gift which she expected with increasing
fear, and yet glad hope. Yet they wished to deprive
her of this exquisite treasure, this peerless comfort
for the soul! But she had learned how to defend
herself, and they should never succeed in accomplishing
this shameful purpose. She would keep her child,
though it increased the Emperor’s resentment
to the highest pitch, and deprived her of every expectation
of his care.

Eagerly as Wolf praised Quijada’s noble nature,
she commanded him to assure the Castilian, whose messenger
he honestly confessed himself to be, that she would
die rather than yield to the Emperor’s demands.

When the time at last came to part from Wolf also,
and he pressed his lips to her hand, she felt that
she could rely upon him, no matter how sad her future
life might be. He added many another kind and
friendly word; then, in an outburst of painful emotion,
cried: “If only you had been contented
with my faithful love, Wawerl, how very different,
how much better everything would have been, how happy
I might be! and, if loyal love possesses the power
of bestowing happiness, you, too——­”

Here Barbara pointed mournfully to her poor aching
throat and, while he earnestly protested that, deeply
as he lamented the injury to her voice, this cruel
misfortune would by no means have lessened his love,
her eyes suddenly flashed, and there was a strange
quiver around the corners of her mouth as she thought:
“Keep that opinion. But I would not exchange
for a long life, overflowing with the happiness which
you, dear, good fellow, could offer me, the brief
May weeks that placed me among the few who are permitted
to taste the highest measure of happiness.”

Yet she listened with sincere sympathy to what he
had heard of Villagarcia and Magdalena de Ulloa, Quijada’s
wife, and what he expected to find there and in Valladolid.

It pleased her most to know that he would be permitted
to return sometimes to the Netherlands. When
once there, he must seek her out wherever her uncertain
destiny had cast her.

When, in saying this, her hoarse voice failed and
tears of pain and sorrow filled her eyes, emotion
overpowered him also and, after he had again urged
her to submit to the will of their imperial master,
he tore himself away with a last farewell.

The ardent, long-cherished passion which had brought
the young knight full of hope to Ratisbon had changed
to compassion. With drooping head, disappointed,
and heavily burdened with anxiety for the future of
the woman who had exerted so powerful an influence
upon his fate, he left the home of his childhood;
but Barbara saw him go with the sorrowful fear that,
in the rural solitude which awaited him in Spain, her
talented friend would lose his art and every loftier
aspiration; yet both felt sure that, whatever might
be the course of their lives, each would hold a firm
place in the other’s memory.

Page 249

A few hours after this farewell Barbara received a
letter from the Council, in which Wolf Hartschwert
secured to her and her father during their lives the
free use of the house which he had inherited in Red
Cock Street, with the sole condition of allowing his
faithful Ursula to occupy the second story until her
death.

The astonished girl at once went to express her thanks
for so much kindness; but Wolf had left Ratisbon a
short time before, and when Barbara entered the house
she found old Ursula at the window with her tear-stained
face resting on her clasped hands. When she heard
her name called, she raised her little head framed
in the big cap, and as soon as she recognised the
unexpected visitor she cast so malevolent a glance
at her that a shiver ran through the girl’s
frame.

After a few brief words of greeting, Barbara left
the old woman, resolving not to enter the house soon
again.

In passing the chapel she could and would not resist
its strong power of attraction. With bowed head
she entered the quiet little sanctuary, repeated a
paternoster, and prayed fervently to the Mother of
God to restore the clearness of her voice once more.
While doing so, she imagined that the gracious intercessor
gazed down upon her sometimes compassionately, sometimes
reproachfully, and, in the consciousness of her guilt,
she raised her hands, imploring forgiveness, to the
friendly, familiar figure.

How tenderly the Christ-child nestled to the pure,
exalted mother! Heaven intended to bestow a similar
exquisite gift upon her also, and already insolent
hands were outstretched to tear it from her. True,
she was determined to defend herself bravely, yet
her best friend advised her to yield without resistance
to this unprecedented demand.

What should she do?

With her brow pressed against the priedieu, she strove
to attain calm reflection in the presence of the powerful
and gracious Queen of Heaven. If she yielded
the child to its cruel father, she would thereby surrender
to him the only happiness to which she still possessed
a claim; if she succeeded in keeping it for herself,
she would deprive it of the favour of the mighty sovereign,
who possessed the power to bestow upon it everything
which the human heart craves. Should she persist
in resistance or yield to the person to whom she had
already sacrificed so much the great blessing which
had the ability to console her for every other loss,
even the most cruel?

Then her refractory heart again rebelled. This
was too much; Heaven itself could not require it of
her, the divine Mother who, before her eyes, was pressing
her child so tenderly to her bosom, least of all.
Hers, too, would be a gift of God, and, while repeating
this to herself, it seemed as though a voice cried
out: “It is the Lord himself who intends
to confide this child to you, and if you give it up
you deprive it of its mother and rob it—­you
have learned that yourself—­of its best
possession. What was given to you to cherish tenderly,
you can not confide to another without angering him
who bestowed the guerdon upon you.”

Page 250

Just at that moment she thought of the star, her lover’s
first memento, with which she had parted from weakness,
though with a good intention.

The misfortune which she was now enduring had grown
out of this lamentable yielding. No! She
would not, ought not to allow herself to be robbed
of her precious hope. One glance at the Mother
and Child put an end to any further consideration.

Comforted and strengthened, she went her way homeward,
scarcely noticing that Peter Schlumperger and his
sister, whom she met, looked away from her with evident
purpose.

CHAPTER VI.

That night Barbara dreamed of her father. Birds
of prey were attacking his body as it lay upon the
ground, and she could not drive them off. The
terror with which this spectacle had disturbed her
sleep could not be banished during the morning.
Now, whatever it cost, she must go to Landshut and
hear some tidings of him.

Maestro Gombert would set out for Munich the next
day, and in doing so must pass the neighbouring city.
If he would carry her with him, she would be safe.
He came at twilight to take leave of her, and with
genuine pleasure gave her the second seat in his travelling
carriage.

Early the following morning the vehicle, drawn by
post horses, stopped before the little Prebrunn castle,
and Barbara was soon driving with the musician through
the pleasant country in the warm August day.

Sister Hyacinthe and Fran Lamperi had tried to prevent
her departure by entreaties and remonstrances, for
both feared that the long ride might injure her; and,
moreover, the latter had been charged by Quijada, in
the Emperor’s name, to keep her in the castle
and, if she left it, to inform him at once by a mounted
messenger.

As Barbara could not be detained, Frau Lamperi, though
reluctantly, obeyed this command.

Before leaving Prebrunn Barbara had warned Gombert
that he would find her a very uninteresting companion,
since it was still impossible to talk much; but Gombert
would not admit this. To a true friend, the mere
presence of the other gives pleasure, even though he
should not open his lips.

The girl had become very dear to him, and her presence
made time pass swiftly, for the great musician liked
to talk and conversed bewitchingly, and he had long
since discovered that Barbara was a good listener.

Besides, the motley life on the road attracted his
attention as well as his travelling companion’s,
for the war had begun, and already would have resulted
in a great victory for the Smalcalds, at the foot of
the Bavarian Alps, had not the Augsburg Military Council
prevented the able commander in chief Schartlin von
Burtenbach and his gallant lieutenant Schenkwitz from
profiting by the advantage won. The way to Italy
and Trent, where the Council was in session, was already
open to the allied Protestants, but they were forbidden
from the green table to follow it. It would have
led them through Bavarian territory, and thereby perhaps
afforded Duke William, the ruler of the country, occasion
to abjure his neutrality and turn openly against the
Smalcalds.

Page 251

The shortsightedness with which the Protestants permitted
the Emperor to remain so long in Ratisbon unmolested,
and gather troops and munitions of war, Gombert had
heard termed actually incomprehensible.

The travellers might expect to find a large force
in Landshut, among the rest ten thousand Italians
and eight thousand Spaniards. This, the musician
explained to his companion, was contrary to the condition
of his Majesty’s election, which prohibited
his bringing foreign soldiers into Germany; but war
was a mighty enterprise, which broke even Firmer contracts.

A bitter remark about the man who, even in peace,
scorned fidelity and faith, rose to Barbara’s
lips; but as she knew the warm enthusiasm which Gombert
cherished for his imperial master, she controlled herself,
and continued to listen while he spoke of the large
re-enforcements which Count Buren was leading from
the Netherlands.

A long and cruel war might be expected, for, though
his Majesty assumed that religion had nothing to do
with it, the saying went—­here Catholics,
here Protestants. The Pope gave his blessing to
those who joined Charles’s banner, and wherever
people had deserted the Church they said that they
were taking the field for the pure religion against
the unchristian Council and the Romish antichrist.

“But it really can not be a war in behalf of
our holy faith,” Barbara here eagerly interposed,
“for the Duke of Saxony is our ally, and Oh,
just look! we must pass there directly.”

She pointed as she spoke to a peasant cart just in
front of them, whose occupants had been hidden until
now by the dust of the road. They were two Protestant
clergymen in the easily recognised official costume
of their faith—­a long, black robe and a
white ruff around the neck.

Gombert, too, now looked in surprise at the ecclesiastical
gentlemen, and called the commander of the four members
of the city guard who escorted his carriage.

The troops marching beside them were the soldiers
of the Protestant Margrave Hans von Kustrin who, in
spite of his faith, had joined the Emperor, his secular
lord, who asserted that he was waging no religious
war. The clergymen were the field chaplains of
the Protestant bands.

When the travellers had passed the long baggage train,
in which women and children filled peasant carts or
trudged on foot, and reached the soldiers themselves,
they found them well-armed men of sturdy figure.

The Neapolitan regiment, which preceded the Kustrin
one, presented an entirely different appearance with
its shorter, brown-skinned, light-footed soldiers.
Here, too, there was no lack of soldiers’ wives
and children, and from two of the carts gaily bedizened
soldiers’ sweethearts waved their hands to the
travellers. In front of the regiment were two
wagons with racks, filled with priests and monks bearing
crosses and church banners, and before them, to escape
the dust, a priest of higher rank with his vicar rode
on mules decked with gay trappings.

Page 252

On the way to Eggmuhl the carriage passed other bodies
of troops. Here the horses were changed, and
now Gombert walked with Barbara in front of the vehicle
to “stretch their legs.”

A regiment from the Upper Palatinate was encamped
outside of the village. The prince to whom it
belonged had given it a free ration of wine at the
noonday rest, and the soldiers were now lying on the
grass with loosened helmets and armour, feeling very
comfortable, and singing in their deep voices a song
newly composed in honour of the Emperor Charles to
the air, “Cheer up, ye gallant soldiers all!”

The couple so skilled in music stopped, and Barbara’s
heart beat quicker as she listened to the words which
the fair-haired young trooper close beside her was
singing in an especially clear voice:

“Cheer
up, ye gallant soldiers all!
Be
blithe and bold of mind
With
faith on God we’ll loudly call,
Then
on our ruler kind.
His
name is worthy of our praise,
Since
to the throne God doth him raise;
So
we will glorify him, too,
And
render the obedience due.
Of
an imperial race he came,
To
this broad empire heir;
Carolus
is his noble name,
God-sent
its crown to wear.
Mehrer
is his just title grand,
The
sovereign of many a land
Which
God hath given to his care
His
name rings on the air!”

[Mehrer—­The increaser,
an ancient title of the German emperors]

How much pleasure this song afforded Barbara, although
it praised the man whom she thought she hated; and
when the third verse began with the words,

“So
goodly is the life he leads
Within
this earthly vale,”

oh, how gladly she would have joined in!

That could not be, but she sang with them in her heart,
for she had long since caught the tune, and how intently
the soldiers would have listened if it had been possible
for her to raise her voice as usual! Amid the
singing of all these men her clear, bell-like tones
would have risen like the lark soaring from the grain
field, and what a storm of applause would have greeted
her from these rough throats!

Grief for the lost happiness of pouring forth her
feelings in melody seized upon her more deeply than
for a long time. She would fain have glided quietly
away to escape the cause of this fresh sorrow.
But Gombert was listening to the young soldier’s
song with interest, so Barbara continued to hear the
young warrior as, with evident enthusiasm, he sang
the verse:

“Patient
and tolerant is he,
Nor
vengeance seeks, nor blood;
E’en
though he errs, as well may be,
His
heart is ever good.”

She, too, had deemed this heart so, but now she knew
better. Yet it pleased her that the fair-haired
soldier so readily believed the poet and, obeying
a hasty impulse, she put her hand into the pouch at
her belt to give him a gold piece; but Gombert nudged
her, and in his broken Netherland German repeated
the verse which he had just heard:

Page 253

“’Tis
stern necessity that forced
The
sword into his hand;
’Tis
not for questions of the faith
That
he doth make his stand.”

So the soldiers believed that their commander had
only grasped the sword when compelled to do so, and
that religion had nothing to do with the war, but
the leader of the orchestra knew better. The conversations
of the Spaniards at the court, and the words which
De Soto had uttered lauding the Emperor, “Since
God placed my foes in my hands, I must wage war upon
his enemies,” were plain enough.

Gombert repeated this remark in a low tone but, ere
Barbara could answer him, the carriage, with its fresh
relay of horses, stopped in the road.

It was time to get in again, but Barbara dreaded the
ride over the rough, crowded highway, and begged her
companion to pursue their journey a little farther
on foot. He consented and, as the girl now flung
a gold gulden to the blond leader of the voices, cheers
from the soldiers followed them.

Leaning on Gombert’s arm, Barbara now moved
on more cheerfully until they were stopped by the
vivandiere’s counter.

The portly woman stood comfortably at ease behind
her eatables and drinkables, rested her fists on her
hips, and glanced toward her assistant, who stared
boldly into the musician’s face, and asked him
to take some refreshment for himself and his sweetheart.

She was a young creature, with features prematurely
haggard, cheeks scarlet with rouge, and eyebrows and
lashes dyed black. The infant which a pale little
girl nine years old was tending belonged to her.
She had had her hair cut close, and her voice was
so discordantly hoarse that it hurt Barbara’s
ears.

As the bold young woman tapped Gombert lightly on
the arm and, with fresh words of invitation, pointed
toward the counter, a shiver ran through Barbara’s
limbs. Even her worst enemy would not have ventured
to compare her with this outcast, but she did herself
as she thought of her own cropped hair and injured
voice. Perhaps the child in the arms of the pale
nine-year-old nurse was disowned by its father, and
did not the greatest of sovereigns intend to do the
same to his, if the mother refused to obey him?

These disagreeable thoughts fell upon her soul like
mildew upon growing grain, and after Gombert had helped
her into the carriage again she begged him to let
her rest in silence for a while. The Netherlander,
it is true, had no suspicion of her condition, but
he knew that she had not yet wholly recovered, and
carefully pushed his own knapsack under her feet.

Barbara now closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep,
yet she tortured her mind with the same question which
she had vainly tried to decide in the chapel of Wolf’s
house. Besides, she was troubled about the information
which the recruiting officer might give her concerning
her father. And suppose she should meet the Emperor
Charles in Landshut, and be permitted to speak to
him?

Page 254

The blare of trumpets and a loud shout of command
roused her from this joyless reverie. The carriage
was passing some squads of Hungarian cavalry moving
at a walk toward Landshut.

Their gay, brilliant appearance scattered the self-torturing
thoughts. Why should she spoil the delightful
drive with her friend, which, besides, was nearly
over? Even if the worst happened, it would come
only too soon.

So drawing a long breath, she again turned to her
companion, and Gombert rejoiced in the refreshing
influence which, as he supposed, her sleep had exerted
upon her. In an hour he must part from the artist
to whom he owed so much pleasure, whose beauty warmed
his aging heart, and who he frequently wished might
regain the wonderful gift now so cruelly lost.
Her fiery vivacity, her thoroughly natural, self-reliant
unconcern, her fresh enthusiasm, the joyousness and
industry with which she toiled at her own cultivation,
and the gratitude with which any musical instruction
had been received, had endeared her to him. It
would be a pleasure to see her again, and a veritable
banquet of the soul to hear her sing in the old way.

He told her this with frank affection, and represented
to her how much better suited she was to Brussels
than to her stately but dull and quiet Ratisbon.

With enthusiastic love for his native land, he described
the bustling life in his beautiful, wealthy home.
There music and every art flourished; there, besides
the Emperor and his august sister, were great nobles
who with cheerful lavishness patronized everything
that was beautiful and worthy of esteem; thither flocked
strangers from the whole world; there festivals were
celebrated with a magnificence and joyousness witnessed
nowhere else on earth. There was the abode of
freedom, joy, and mirth.

Barbara had often wished to see the Netherlands, which
the Emperor Charles also remembered with special affection,
but no one had ever thus transported her to the midst
of these flourishing provinces and this blithesome
people.

During the maestro’s description her large eyes
rested upon his lips as if spellbound. She, too,
must see this Brabant, and, like every newly awakened
longing, this also quickly took possession of her whole
nature. Only in the Netherlands, she thought,
could she regain her lost happiness. But what
elevated this idea to a certainty in her mind was not
only the fostering of music, the spectacles and festivals,
the magnificent velvet, the rustling silk, and the
gay, varied life, not only the worthy Appenzelder
and the friend at her side, but, far above all other
things, the circumstance that Brussels was the home
of the Emperor Charles, that there, there alone, she
might be permitted to see again and again, at least
from a distance, the man whom she hated.

Absorbed in the Netherlands, she forgot to notice
the nearest things which presented themselves to her
gaze.

The last hour of the drive had passed with the speed
of an arrow, both to her and her travelling companion,
and just as they were close to the left bank of the
Isar, which was flowing toward them, Gombert’s
old servant turned and, pointing before him with his
outstretched hand, exclaimed, “Here we are in
Landshut!” she perceived that the goal of their
journey was gained.

Page 255

Barbara was familiar with this flourishing place,
above which proudly towered the Trausnitzburg, for
here lived her uncle Wolfgang Lorberer, who had married
her mother’s sister, and was a member of the
city Council. Two years before she had spent
a whole month as a guest in his wealthy household,
and she intended now to seek shelter there again.
Fran Martha had invited her more than once to come
soon, and meanwhile her two young cousins had grown
up.

Two arms of the Isar lay before her, and between them
the island of Zweibrucken.

Before the coach rolled across the first, Barbara
gathered her luggage together and told the postboy
where he was to drive. He knew the handsome Lorberer
house, and touched his cap when he heard its owner’s
name. Barbara was glad to be brought to her relatives
by the famous musician; she did not wish to appear
as though she had dropped from the clouds in the house
of the aunt who was the opposite of her dead mother,
a somewhat narrow-minded, prudish woman, of whom she
secretly stood in awe.

CHAPTER VII.

Progress was very slow, for many peasants and hogs
were coming toward them from the Schweinemarkt at
their right.

The gate was on the second bridge, and here the carriage
was compelled to stop on account of paying the toll.
But it could not have advanced in any case; a considerable
number of vehicles and human beings choked the space
before and beyond the gate. Horsemen of all sorts,
wagons of regiments marching in and out, freight vans
and country carts, soldiers, male and female citizens,
peasants and peasant women, monks, travelling journeymen,
and vagrants impeded their progress, and it required
a long time ere the travelling carriage could finally
pass the gate and reach the end of the bridge.

There the crowd between it, the Hospital of the Holy
Ghost, and the church belonging to it seemed absolutely
impenetrable. The vehicle was forced to stop,
and Gombert stood up and overlooked the motley throng
surrounding it.

Barbara had also risen from her seat, pointed out
to her companion one noteworthy object after another,
and finally a handsome sedan chair which rested on
the ground beside the hospital.

“His Majesty’s property,” she said
eagerly; “I know it well.”

Here she hesitated and turned pale, for she had just
noticed what Gombert now called to her attention.

Don Luis Quijada, with the haughty precision of the
Castilian grandee, was passing through the humble
folk around him and advancing directly toward her.

All who separated him from the carriage submissively
made way for the commander of the Lombard regiment;
but Barbara looked toward the right and the left,
and longed to spring from the vehicle and hide herself
amid the throng.

But it was too late for that.

She could do nothing except wait to learn what he
desired, and yet she knew perfectly well that Don
Luis was not coming to the musician, but to her, and
that he was bringing some startling, nay, probably
some terrible news.

Page 256

She had not met him since she had poured forth the
indignation of her heart. Now he was standing
close beside the carriage, but his grave face looked
less stern than it did at that time.

After he had bent his head slightly to her and held
out his hand to Gombert with friendly condescension,
he thanked him for the kindness with which he had
made room for his travelling companion, and then, with
quiet courtesy, informed Barbara that he had come
on behalf of his Majesty, who feared that she might
not find suitable lodgings in overcrowded Landshut.
The sedan chair stood ready over there by the hospital.

The longing to escape this fresh outrage from the
mighty despot seized upon Barbara more fiercely than
ever, but flight in this crowd was impossible, and
as she met Quijada’s grave glance she forced
herself to keep silence. She could not endure
to make the Netherland maestro, who was kindly disposed
toward her, and whom she honoured, a witness of her
humiliation. So she was compelled to reserve what
she wished to say to the Spaniard until later, and
therefore only bade her friend farewell and, scarcely
able to control her voice, expressed her regret that
she could not take him to the Lorberers, since his
Majesty was making other arrangements for her.

Another clasp of the Netherlander’s hand, a
questioning glance into the Castilian’s calm
face, and she was forced to consider herself the Emperor
Charles’s prisoner.

True, her captor studiously showed her every attention;
he helped her out of the carriage with the utmost
care, and then led her through the moving throng of
people to the sedan chair, behind which a mounted groom
was holding Quijada’s noble steed by the bridle.

While Don Luis was helping Barbara into the chair,
she asked in a low tone what she was to think of this
act of violence, and where she was being taken.

“His Majesty’s command,” was the
reply. “I think you will be satisfied with
your lodgings here.” The girl shrugged her
shoulders indignantly, and asked if she might only
know how it had been discovered that she was on her
way to Landshut; but Don Luis, in a gayer manner than
his usual one, answered, “A little bird sang
it to us, and I waited for you just here because,
at the end of the bridge, we are most certain to meet
whoever is obliged to cross either branch of the river.”
Then, in a tone so grave as to exclude any idea of
mockery, he added, “You see how kindly his Majesty
has provided for your welfare.”

Closing the sedan chair as he spoke, he rode on before
her.

Meanwhile contradictory emotions were seething and
surging in Barbara’s breast.

Where were they taking her?

Did the Emperor intend to make her a prisoner?
He certainly possessed the power. Who would dare
to resist him?

She could attain no clearness of thought, for, while
giving free course to the indignation of her soul,
she was gazing out at the open sides of the sedan
chair.

Page 257

Every house, every paving stone here was familiar
and awakened some memory. A crowd of people surrounded
her, and among them appeared many a foreign soldier
on foot and on horseback, who would have been well
worthy of an attentive glance. But what did she
care for the Italians in helmets and coats of mail
who filled the Altstadt—­the main business
street of Landshut—­through which she was
being carried? She doubtless cast a glance toward
the Town Hall, where her uncle was now devising means
to provide shelter for this legion of soldiers and
steeds, doubtless put her head a little out of the
window as she approached the houses and arcades in
the lower stories, and the Lorberer mansion, with the
blunt gable, where she had spent such happy days,
appeared. But she quickly drew it back again;
if any of her relatives should see her, what answer
could she make to questions?

But no one perceived her, and who knows whether they
would not have supposed the delicate, troubled face,
short locks of hair, and unnaturally large eyes to
be those of another girl who only resembled the blooming,
healthful Barbara of former days?

She also glanced toward the richly decorated portal
of St. Martin’s Church, standing diagonally
opposite to the sedan chair, and tried to look up
to the steeple, which was higher than almost any other
in the world.

Even in Ratisbon there was not a handsomer, wider
street than this Altstadt, with its stately gable-roofed
houses, and certainly not in Munich, where her uncle
had once taken her, and the Bavarian dukes now resided.

But where, in Heaven’s name, would she be borne?

The sedan chair was now swaying past the place where
the “short cut” for pedestrians led up
to the Trausnitzburg, the proud citadel of the dukes
of Bavarian Landshut. She leaned forward again
to look up at it as it towered far above her head
on the opposite side of the way; the powerful ruler
whose captive she was probably lodged there.

But now!

What did this mean?

The sedan chair was set down, and it was just at the
place where the road at her left, leading to the citadel,
climbed the height where rose the proud Trausnitz
fortress.

Perhaps she might now find an opportunity to escape.

Barbara hastily opened the door, but one of her attendants
closed it again, and in doing so pressed her gently
back into the chair. At the same time he shook
his head, and, while his little black eyes twinkled
slyly at her, his broad, smiling mouth, over which
hung a long black mustache, uttered a good-natured
“No, no.”

Now the ascent of the mountain began. A wall
bordered the greater portion of the road, which often
led through a ravine overgrown with brushwood and
past bastions and other solid masonry.

The bearers had already mounted to a considerable
height, yet there was no view of the city and the
neighbouring country. But even the loveliest
prospect would not have induced Barbara to open her
eyes, for the indignation which overpowered her had
increased to fierce rage, blended with a fear usually
alien to her courageous soul.

Page 258

In the one tower of the citadel there were prisons
of tolerably pleasant aspect, but she had heard whispers
of terrible subterranean dungeons connected with the
secret tribunal.

Suppose the Emperor Charles intended to lock her in
one of these dungeons and withdraw her from the eyes
of the world? Who could guard her from this horrible
fate? who could prevent him from keeping her buried
alive during her life?

Shuddering, she looked out again. If she was
not mistaken, they were nearing the end of the road,
and she would soon learn what was before her.
Perhaps the Emperor Charles himself was awaiting her
up there. But if he asked her whether she intended
always to defy him, she would show him that Barbara
Blomberg was not to be intimidated; that she knew how
to defend herself and, if necessary, to suffer; that
she would be ready to risk everything to baffle his
design and carry out her own resolve. Then he
should see that nations and kings, nay, even the Holy
Father in Rome-as Charles had once sacrilegiously
done—­may be vanquished and humbled; that
the hard, precious stone may be crushed and solid metal
melted, but the steadfast will of a woman battling
for what she holds dearest can not be broken.

The sedan chair had already passed through half a
dozen citadel gates and left one solid wall behind
it, but now a second rose, with a lofty door set in
its strong masonry.

When Barbara had formerly ascended the Trausnitz,
with what pleasure she had gazed at the deep moat
at her left, the pheasants, the stately peacocks,
and other feathered creatures, as well as a whole troop
of lively monkeys; but this time she saw nothing except
that the heavy iron-bound portals of the entrance
opened before her, that the drawbridge, though the
sun was close to the western horizon, was still lowered,
and that Quijada stood at the end, motioning to the
bearers to set the sedan chair on the ground.

Now the major-domo opened the door, and this time
he was not alone; Barbara saw behind him a woman whose
appearance, spite of her angry excitement, inspired
confidence.

The questions which, without heeding his companion,
she now with crimson cheeks poured upon Don Luis as
if fairly frantic, he answered in brief, businesslike
words.

The Emperor Charles wished to place her in safe quarters
up here, while he himself had taken lodgings in the
modest house of a Schwaiger—­a small farmer
who tilled his own garden and land in the valley below.

For the present, some of the most distinguished officers
were here in the citadel as guests of the Duke of
Bavaria. Barbara was to live in the ladies’
apartments of the fortress, under the care of the worthy
woman at his side.

“His Majesty could not have provided for you
more kindly,” he concluded.

“Then may the Virgin preserve every one from
such kindness!” she impetuously exclaimed.
“I am dragged to this citadel against my will—–­”

Page 259

“And that irritates your strong feeling of independence,
which we know,” replied the Spaniard quietly.
“But when you listen to reason, fairest lady,
you will soon be reconciled to this wise regulation
of his Majesty. If not, it will be your own loss.
But,” he added in a lowered tone, “this
is no fitting place for a conversation which might
easily degenerate into a quarrel. It can be completed
better in your own apartments.”

While speaking he led the way, and Barbara followed
without another word of remonstrance, for soldiers
of all ages and other gentlemen were walking in the
large, beautiful courtyard which she overlooked; a
group of lovers of horseflesh were examining some
specially fine steeds, and from several of the broad
windows which surrounded the Trausnitz courtyard on
all sides men’s faces were looking down at her.

This courtyard had always seemed to her a stage specially
suitable for the display of royal magnificence, and
yet, in spite of its stately size, it would be difficult
to imagine anything more pleasant, more thoroughly
secluded.

It had formerly witnessed many brilliant knightly
games and festal scenes, but even now it was the favourite
gathering place for the inhabitants of the citadel
and the guests of the ducal owner, though the latter,
it is true, had ceased to live here since Landshut
had become the heritage of the Munich branch of the
Wittelsbach family, and the Bavarian dukes resided
in Munich, the upper city on the Isar.

Just as Barbara entered the castle the vesper bell
rang, and Quijada paused with bared head, his companions
with clasped hands.

The girl prisoner felt little inclination to pray;
she was probably thinking of a dance given here by
torchlight, in which, as her uncle’s guest,
she had taken part until morning began to dawn.

While they were walking on again, she also remembered
the riding at the ring in the Trausnitz courtyard,
which she had been permitted to witness.

The varied, magnificent spectacle had made her almost
wild with delight. The dance in this square had
been one of her fairest memories. And with what
feelings she looked down into this courtyard again!
What could such an amusement be to her now? Yet
it roused a bitter feeling that, in spite of her youth,
such scenes should be closed to her forever.

She silently followed the others into an airy room
in the third story, whose windows afforded a beautiful
view extending to the Bohemian forests.

But Barbara was too weary to bestow more than a fleeting
glance upon it.

Paying no heed to the others, she sank down upon the
bench near one of the walls of the room, and while
she was still talking with Don Luis her new companion,
of whose name she was still ignorant, brought several
cushions and silently placed them behind her back.

This chamber, Quijada explained, he had selected for
her by his Majesty’s permission. The adjoining
room would be occupied by this good lady—­he
motioned to his companion—­the wife of Herr
Adrian Dubois, his Majesty’s valet. Being
a native of Cologne, she understood German, and had
offered to bear her company. If Barbara desired,
she could also summon the garde-robiere Lamperi from
Ratisbon to the Trausnitz.

Page 260

Here she interrupted him with the question how long
the Emperor intended to detain her here.

“As long as it suits his imperial pleasure and
the physician deems advisable,” was the reply.
Barbara merely shrugged her shoulders again; she felt
utterly exhausted. But when Quijada, who perceived
that she needed rest, was about to leave her, she
remembered the cause of her drive to Landshut, and
asked whether she might speak to her father’s
travelling companion, who could give her information
about the health of the old man who, after the Emperor
had sent him out into the world, had fallen ill in
Antwerp.

This was willingly granted, and Don Luis even undertook
to send Sir Pyramus Kogel, whom he knew by sight,
to her. Then commending her to the care of Fran
Dubois, who was directed to gratify every reasonable
wish, he left the room. Meanwhile Barbara desired
nothing except rest, but she studiously refrained
from addressing even a word to her new companion.
Besides, there was little time to do so, she was soon
sound asleep.

When at the end of two hours she awoke, she found
herself lying at full length upon the bench, while
a careful hand had removed her shoes, and the pillows
which had supported her weary back were now under her
head.

During her slumber it had grown dark, and a small
lamp, whose rays a handkerchief shielded from her
eyes, was standing on the stove in one corner of the
room.

Yet she was alone; but she had scarcely stirred when
Frau Dubois appeared with a maid-servant bearing a
candelabrum with lighted candles. The careful
nurse asked in brief but pleasant words whether she
felt stronger, if it would be agreeable to her to
have supper served in fifteen minutes, and if she
would allow her to help her.

“Willingly,” replied Barbara, very pleasantly
surprised. Her companion, as it were, anticipated
her strongest wishes—­to satisfy her hunger
and to change her dress.

She must be capable and, moreover, a woman of kindly,
delicate feelings, and it certainly was no fault of
hers that she was intrusted with her guardianship
and that she belonged to no higher station in life.
She was only punishing herself by persisting in her
silence and, as Frau Dubois tended her like a watchful
mother, though without addressing a single word to
her unasked, Barbara’s grateful heart and the
satisfaction which the valet’s wife inspired
silenced her arrogance.

When an attendant laid the table for only one person,
the girl kindly invited Frau Dubois to dine with her;
the former, however, had already had her meal, but
she said that she would be very glad to bear the young
lady company if she desired.

The first long conversation between the two took place
at the table.

The pretty face of the native of the Rhine country,
with its little snub nose, which in youth must have
lent a touch of gay pertness to the well-formed features,
was still unwrinkled, though Frau Dubois was nearer
fifty than forty. Her gray, nearly white hair,
though ill-suited to her almost youthful features,
lent them a peculiar charm, and how brightly her round,
brown eyes still sparkled! The plain gown of fine
Brabant stuff fitted as if moulded to her figure,
and it was difficult to imagine anything neater than
her whole appearance.

Page 261

Adrian had certainly attained an exceptional position
among his class, yet Barbara wondered how he had won
this woman, who apparently belonged to a far higher
station. And then what had brought her to this
place and her companionship?

She was to learn during the meal, for Frau Dubois
not only answered her questions kindly, but in a manner
which showed Barbara sincere sympathy for her position.

She was the daughter of a captain who had fallen in
the Emperor Charles’s service before Padua.
The pension granted to his widow had not been paid,
and when, with her daughter, she sought an audience
with the commander in chief, the influential valet
had seen the blooming girl, and did not seek her hand
in vain. Maternal joys had been denied her; besides,
Frau Dubois thought it hard that her husband was obliged
to accompany the Emperor, who could not spare him
for a single day, on his long and numerous journeys.
Even the very comfortable life secured to her by the
distinguished valet, who was respected by men of the
highest rank, by no means consoled her for it.

The Emperor Charles knew this, and had given Adrian
a pretty house in the park of the Brussels palace,
besides favouring him in other ways. Now he had
allowed him, before setting out for the war, to send
for his wife. On reaching Landshut, she had shared
during a few hours the little house which the monarch
and general had chosen for his lodgings. The imperial
commander had not gone up to the citadel because he
wished to remain among his troops.

True, the little farmhouse on the “hohen Gred”
which he occupied was anything but a suitable abode
for a powerful sovereign, for above the ground floor
it had only a single story with five small windows
and an unusually high roof. But, on the other
hand, the regiments lying encamped near it could be
quickly reached. Another reason for making the
choice was that he could obtain rest here better than
on the Trausnitz, for his health was as bad as his
appearance and his mood. He intended to break
up the headquarters on the day after to-morrow, so
another separation awaited the valet and his wife.

When the mounted messenger sent by Frau Lamperi reached
Landshut, and it was necessary to find a suitable
companion for Barbara, the Emperor himself had thought
of Fran Dubois.

There had been no opposition to his wish. Besides,
she said, his Majesty meant kindly by Barbara and,
so far as her power extended, everything should be
done to soften her hard destiny.

She knew the whole history of the girl intrusted to
her care, yet she would scarcely have undertaken the
task committed to her had she not been aware that
every determination of the Emperor was immovable.
Besides, she could also strive to render the hard
fate imposed upon the poor girl more endurable.

Barbara had listened eagerly to the story without
interrupting her; then she desired to learn further
particulars concerning the health of the man from
whom even now her soul could not be sundered and, finally,
she urged her to talk about herself.

Page 262

So time passed with the speed of the wind. The
candles in the candelabrum were already half burned
down when Fran Dubois at last urged going to rest.

Barbara felt that she was fortunate to have found
so kind and sensible a companion and, while the Rhinelander
was helping her undress, she begged her in future
to call her by her Christian name “Gertrud,”
or, as people liked to address her, “Frau Traut.”

CHAPTER VIII.

When Barbara rose from her couch the next morning
it was no longer early in the day. She had slept
soundly and dreamlessly for several hours, then she
had been kept awake by the same thoughts which had
pressed upon her so constantly of late.

She would defy Charles’s cruel demand.
The infuriating compulsion inflicted upon her could
only strengthen her resolve. If she was dragged
to a convent by force, she would refuse, at the ceremony
of profession, to become a nun.

She thought of a pilgrimage to induce Heaven to restore
the lost melody of her voice. But meanwhile the
longing to see the Emperor Charles’s face once
more again and again overpowered her. On the other
hand, the desire to speak to him and upbraid him to
his face for the wrong he had done her was soon silenced;
it could only spoil his memory of her if he should
hear the discordant tones which inflicted pain on her
own ear.

Another train of thoughts had also kept her awake.
How was her father faring? Had he learned what
she feared to confess to him? What had befallen
him, and what had the recruiting officer to tell of
his fate?

She was to know soon enough, for she had scarcely
risen from breakfast when a ducal servant announced
Sir Pyramus.

Barbara with anxious heart awaited his entrance, and
as she stood there, her cheeks slightly flushed and
her large, questioning eyes fixed upon the door, she
seemed to Frau Traut, in spite of her short hair and
the loss of the rounded oval of her face, so marvellously
beautiful that she perfectly understood how she had
succeeded in kindling so fierce a flame in the Emperor’s
heart, difficult as it was to fire.

Frau Traut did not venture to determine what made
the blood mount into Pyramus’s cheeks when Barbara
at his entrance held out her slender white hand, for
she had left the room immediately after his arrival.
But she did not need to remain absent long; the interview
ended much sooner than she expected.

This young officer was certainly a man of splendid
physique, with handsome, manly features, yet she thought
she perceived in his manner an air of constraint which
repelled her and, in fact, this gigantic soldier was
conscious that if, for a single moment, he relinquished
the control he imposed upon himself his foolish heart
would play him a trick.

Page 263

Barbara had seemed more beautiful than ever as she
greeted him with almost humble friendliness, instead
of her former defiance. The hoarse tone of her
voice, once so musical, caused him so much pain that
he was on the verge of losing his power to keep his
resolve to conceal the feelings which, in spite of
the insults she had heaped upon him, he still cherished
for her. While he allowed himself to look into
her face, he realized for the first time how difficult
a task he had undertaken, and therefore tried to assume
an expression of indifference as he began the conversation
with the remark that the ride to the citadel was detaining
him from his duties longer than he could answer for
in such a stress of military business and, moreover,
under the eyes of his Majesty. Therefore it would
only be possible to talk a very short time.

He had hurled forth this statement rather than spoken
it; but Barbara, smiling mournfully, replied that
she could easily understand his reluctance to lose
so much time merely on her account.

“For your sake, my dear lady,” he replied
with an acerbity which sounded sufficiently genuine,
“it might scarcely have seemed feasible to go
so far from the camp; but for the brave old comrade
who was intrusted to my care I would have made even
more difficult things possible—­and you are
his daughter.”

The girl nodded silently to show that she understood
the meaning of his words, and then asked how the journey
had passed and what was the cause of her father’s
illness.

Everything had gone as well as possible, he replied,
until they reached Spain; but there the captain was
tortured by homesickness. Nothing had pleased
him except the piety of the people. The fiery
wine did not suit him, the fare seemed unbearable,
and the inability to talk with any one except himself
had irritated him to actual outbursts of rage.
On the neat Netherland ship which bore him homeward
matters were better; nay, while running into the harbour
of Antwerp he had jested almost in his old reckless
manner. But when trying to descend the rope-ladder
from the high ship into the skiff in which sailors
had rowed from the land, he made a misstep with his
stiff leg and fell into the boat.

A low cry of terror here escaped the lips of the deeply
agitated daughter, and Pyramus joined in her expressions
of grief, declaring that a chill still ran down his
back whenever he thought of that fall. The captain
had been saved as if by a miracle. Yet the consequences
were by no means light, for when he, Pyramus, left
him, he was barely able to totter from one chair to
another. A journey on horseback, the physician
said, would kill him, and a ride in a carriage over
the rough roads would also endanger his life.
Several months must pass ere he could think of returning
home.

In reply to Barbara’s anxious question how the
impatient man bore the inactivity imposed upon him,
her visitor answered, “Rebelliously enough,
but he has already grown quieter, and my sister is
fond of him and takes the best care of him.”

Page 264

“Your sister?” asked Barbara abashed,
holding out her hand again; but he pretended not to
notice it, and merely explained curtly that she had
come to the Netherlands with her husband. This
enterprising man, like himself, was a native of the
principality of Grubenhagen in the Hartz Mountains.
At sixteen the wild fellow went out into the world
to seek his fortune, and had found it as a daring
sailor. He returned a rich man to seek a wife
in his old home. Now he had gone on a voyage to
the Indies, and while his wife awaited his return
she had gladly received her brother’s old comrade.
Nursing him would afford her a welcome occupation during
her loneliness. Her house lacked nothing, and
Barbara might comfort herself with the knowledge that
the captain would have the best possible care.

With these words he seemed about to leave her; but
she stopped him with the question, “And when
the service summoned you away from him, had he heard
what his daughter——­”

Here, flushing deeply, she paused with downcast eyes.
Pyramus feasted a short time on the spectacle of her
humbled pride, but soon he could no longer bear to
see her endure such bitter suffering, and therefore
answered hastily, “If you mean what is said about
you and his Majesty the Emperor, he was told of it
by an old comrade from this neighbourhood.”

“And he?” she asked anxiously.

“He wrathfully ordered him out of the door,”
replied the officer, and he saw how her eyes filled
with tears.

Then feeling how soft his own heart was also growing,
he hurriedly said farewell. Again she gratefully
extended her hand, and he clasped it and allowed himself
the pleasure of holding it in his a short time.
Then bowing hastily, he left her.

She had been the Emperor’s toy, her voice had
lost its melting melody, and yet he thought there
was no woman more to be desired, far as his profession
of recruiting had led him through all lands. This
iron no longer needed bending; but how fiercely the
flames of suffering which melted her obstinate nature
must have burned! Surely he had not seen her
for the last time, and perhaps Fate would now help
him to perform the vow that he had made before her
door in the dark entry of the house in Ratisbon.

While Sir Pyramus was leaving her Barbara had heard
a man’s voice in Frau Traut’s room, but
she scarcely noticed it. What she had learned
weighed heavily upon her soul.

Her father would not believe what was, nevertheless,
the full, undeniable truth. How would he deal
with the certainty that he had showed his old comrade
the door unjustly when he at last came home and she
confessed all, all that she had sinned and suffered?
She was sure of one thing only—­he, too,
would not permit her child to be taken from her; and
she cherished a single hope—­the blow which
Fate had dealt by destroying her tuneful voice would
force him to pity, and perhaps induce him to forgive
her. Oh, if she could only have conjured him here,
opened her heart fully, freely to him, and learned
from his own lips that he approved of her resistance!

Page 265

During this period of quiet reflection many sounds
and shouts which she had not heard before reached
her room.

As they grew louder and more frequent, Barbara rose
to approach the open window, but ere she reached it
Frau Taut returned.

The visitor whom she had received was Adrian, her
husband. He had come up the Trausnitz to make
all sorts of arrangements, for something unusual was
to happen which would bring even his Majesty the Emperor
here.

These tidings startled Barbara.

Suppose that Charles was now coming to influence her
by the heavy weight of his personality; suppose he——­

But Frau Traut gave her no time to yield to these
and other fears and hopes; she added, in a quiet tone,
that his Majesty merely intended to invest his son-in-law,
Ottavio Farnese, Duke of Parma, with the Order of
the Golden Fleece in the Trausnitz courtyard.
It would be a magnificent spectacle, and Barbara could
witness it if she desired. One of the rooms in
the second story of the ladies’ wing where she
lodged was still untenanted, and her husband would
be responsible if she occupied it, only Barbara must
promise not to attract attention to herself by any
sound or gesture.

She yielded to this demand with eager zeal, and when
Frau Traut perceived the girl’s pale cheeks
again flushed she wondered at the rapid excitability
of this singular creature, and willingly answered the
long series of questions with which she assailed her.

Barbara especially desired to hear particulars about
the mother of Margaret of Parma, the wife of Ottavio
Farnese, that Johanna Van der Gheynst who gave this
daughter to the Emperor.

Then Barbara learned that she was a Netherland girl
of respectable family, but of scarcely higher rank
than her own; only she had been adopted by Count Bon
Haagestraaten before the Emperor made her acquaintance.

“Was Johanna beautiful?” Barbara eagerly
interrupted.

“I think you are far handsomer,” was the
reply, “though she, too, was a lovely creature.”

Then Barbara wished to learn whether she was fair
or dark, lively or quiet, and, finally, whether she
had consented to give up her child; and Frau Traut
answered that Johanna had done this without resistance,
and her daughter was afterward reared first by the
Duchess of Savoy, and later by Queen Mary, the regent
of the Netherlands.

“How wisely the young lady acted,” Frau
Dubois concluded, “you yourself know. A
crown now adorns her child’s head for the second
time, and you will soon see how the Emperor Charles
bestows honours upon her husband. His Majesty
understood how to provide for his daughter, who is
his first child. Her former marriage, it is true,
was short. Alessandro de’ Medici, to whom
she was wedded at almost too early an age, was murdered
scarcely a year after their nuptials. Her present
husband, the Duke of Parma, whom you will see, is,
on the contrary, younger than she, but since the unfortunate
campaign against Algiers, in which he participated,
and after his recovery from the severe illness he
endured after his return home, they enjoy a beautiful
conjugal happiness. His Majesty is warmly attached
to his daughter, and the great distinction which he
will bestow upon her husband to-day is given by no
means least to please his own beloved child, though
her mother was only a Jollanna van der Gheynst.”

Page 266

Barbara had listened to these communications with
dilated eyes, but the speaker was now interrupted;
the leech, Dr. Matthys, was announced, and immediately
entered the room.

Barbara’s outburst of rage had not lessened
his sympathy for her, and in the interest of science
he desired to learn what effect his remedies had had.
Unfortunately, in spite of their use, no improvement
was visible.

The strange absence of mind with which the girl, who
usually answered questions so promptly and decidedly,
now seemed scarcely to hear them, he attributed to
the painful remembrance of her unseemly behaviour at
their last meeting, and therefore soon left her, by
no means satisfied with his visit. On the way,
however, he told himself that it was unfair to blame
the bird which had just been captured for fluttering.

When the leech had retired, Barbara regretted that
she had answered him so indifferently. But the
anticipation of seeing her imperial lover again dominated
every thought and feeling. Besides, she again
and again saw before her the figure of the young duke,
whom she had never beheld, but whom Charles had married
to the daughter of that Johanna who was said to have
been neither more beautiful nor more aristocratic than
she herself.

Frau Traut saw compassionately that she could not
remain long quietly in any place, and that when the
noon meal was served she scarcely tasted food.

As soon as the first blast of the horns rose from
the gate of the citadel she urged departure like an
impatient child, and her indulgent companion yielded,
though she knew that the stately ceremonial would not
begin for a long time.

The window which Adrian had assigned to the two women
in a room which was to be occupied by them alone afforded
a view of the entire courtyard, and from the arm-chair
which Frau Traut had had brought for her Barbara gazed
down into it with strained attention.

The first sound of the horns had saluted Ottavio Farnese.

Mounted on a spirited charger, he held aloft, as gonfaloniere
of the Church, the proud banner to be whose bearer
was deemed by the Dukes of Parma one of their loftiest
titles of honour.

He was greeted by the nobles present with loud acclamations,
but was still booted and attired as beseemed a horseman.
The cavaliers, officers, and pages who attended him
entered the citadel in no regular order. But
as Ottavio swung himself from his magnificently formed,
cream-coloured steed, and issued orders to his train,
Barbara could look him directly in the face and, though
she thought him neither handsome nor possessed of
manly vigour, she could not help admitting that she
had rarely seen a young man of equally distinguished
bearing. His every movement bore the impress
of royal self-confidence, yet at the same time was
unconstrained and graceful.

Now he disappeared in the wing of the building that
united the ladies’ rooms with the main structure
opposite.

Page 267

The Emperor Charles could not be here yet. His
arrival would not have been passed by so quietly,
and the imperial banner did not float either from
the many-sided turret at the left end of the main building
nor from the lofty roof of the ancient Wittelsbach
tower. Great nobles, mounted on splendid chargers,
constantly rode into the citadel, sometimes in groups,
and were saluted by the blast of horns; nimble squires
led the horses away, while ducal councillors, nobles,
chamberlains, and ushers received the distinguished
guests of the citadel and conducted them to the Turnitz,
the huge banquet hall in the lower story of the main
building, where the best of everything undoubtedly
stood ready for them.

But every arrangement had already been made for the
approaching ceremony—­a broad wooden estrade
was erected in the centre of the courtyard, and richly
decorated with garlands of flowers, blossoming branches,
flags, and streamers. At the back stood the Emperor’s
throne, covered with purple damask, and beside it
numerous velvet cushions lay piled one upon another,
waiting to be used.

Barbara’s vivid imagination already showed her
the course of this rare spectacle, and she gladly
and confidently expected that the Emperor must turn
his face toward her during the principal portion of
the ceremony.

Now the carpet on the stage was drawn tighter by lackeys
in magnificent liveries, and the final touches were
given to its decorations; now priests entered the
smaller building at the left of the courtyard.
The balcony on one of these buildings was adorned
with flowers, and the singers of St. Martin’s
Church in Landshut gradually filled it. Now—­but
here Barbara’s quiet observation suddenly ended;
the air was shaken by the roar of cannon from the
bastions of the citadel, and the signals of the warders’
horns blended with the thunder of the artillery.
At the same time the banners and streamers on every
flagpole, stirred by a light breeze from the east,
began to wave in the sunny August air. Then the
blare of trumpets echoed, and a few minutes later from
the Turnitz and the covered staircase between the
main building and the right win; of the citadel the
most brilliant body of men that Barbara had ever seen
poured into the courtyard. They were the Knights
of the Golden Fleece and the princes, counts, barons
and knights, generals and colonels whom the Emperor
Charles had invited to the Trausnitz citadel to attend
the approaching solemn ceremonial.

What did she care for these dignitaries in gold, silver,
and steel, velvet and silk, gems and plumes, when
the enthusiastic cheers of this illustrious assemblage,
the blare of trumpets, the thunder of cannon, and
the ringing of bells loudly proclaimed the approach
of him who, as their lord and master, stood far above
them all? Would he appear on horseback, or had
he dismounted at the gate and was advancing on foot?
Neither. He was borne in a sedan chair.
It was covered with gilding, and the top of the arched
roof and each of the four corners were adorned with
bunches of red and gold plumes, the colours of Philip
of Burgundy, who more than a hundred years before
had founded the order of the Golden Fleece.

Page 268

Instead of lackeys, strong sergeants, chosen from
the different regiments, bore the sedan chair.
The gentlemen of the court—­Prince Henry
of Nassau, Baron Malfalconnet, and Don Luis Quijada,
with Generals Furstenberg and Mannsfeld, Count Hildebrand
Madrucci, the Master of the Teutonic Order, the Marchese
Marignano, and others—­were preceded by the
stiff, grave, soldierly figure of the Duke of Alba,
and, by the side of the platform, grandees and military
commanders, Netherland lords, Italian, German, and
Austrian princes, counts, barons, and knights had
taken their places.

When the sedan chair was at last set on the ground
in front of the lowest step of the platform, Barbara
thought that her heart would burst; for while the
singers in the balcony began the “Venite populi
mundi,” so familiar to her, and the cheers redoubled,
Charles descended, and in what a guise she saw him
again! He looked ten years older, and she felt
with him the keen suffering which every step must
cause.

This time it was not Quijada, but the Duke of Alba,
who offered him the support of his mailed arm, and,
leaning on it, he ascended the low stage.

While doing so he turned his back to Barbara, and
as with bent figure and outstretched head he wearily
climbed the two stairs leading to the platform, he
presented a pitiable spectacle.

And have you loved this wreck of a man with all the
fervour of your heart? the girl asked herself; does
it still throb faster for him? could you even now
expect from him a fairer happiness than from all these
handsome warriors and nobles in the pride of their
manly vigour? To this old man you have sacrificed
happiness and honour, given up your father and the
noblest, best of friends!

Fierce indignation for her own folly suddenly seized
upon her with such overmastering power that she looked
away from the sovereign toward the singers, who were
summoning the whole world to pay homage to yonder
broken-down man, as though he were a demigod.

A bitter smile hovered around her lips as she did
so, but it vanished as swiftly as it had come; for
when she again fixed her eyes upon the monarch, she
would gladly have joined in the mighty hymn. As
if by a miracle, he had become an entirely different
person. Now he stood before the throne in the
full loftiness and dignity of commanding majesty.
A purple mantle fell from his shoulders, and the Duke
of Alba was placing the crown on his head instead
of the velvet cap.

Oh, no, she need not be ashamed of having loved this
man, and she was not; for she loved him still, and
was fully and joyously aware that whatever he suffered,
whatever tortured and prematurely aged the man still
in his fourth decade, no one on earth equalled him
in intellect and grandeur.

Page 269

And as pages then placed the velvet cushions on the
carpet; as the Duke of Parma, the gonfaloniere on
whose head rested the blessing of the representative
of Christ, bent the knee before his imperial father-in-law,
and the proud Alba and the other Knights of the Golden
Fleece who were present did the same; as Charles, the
grand master of the order, took from the cushion the
symbol of honour which Count Henry of Nassau handed
to him, and placed the golden sheepskin with the red
ribbon around Duke Ottavio’s neck, while the
plaudits, the ringing of bells, and the thunder of
the artillery echoed more loudly than ever from the
stone walls of the courtyard, tears filled Barbara’s
eyes and, as when the Emperor passed at the head of
the bridal procession in Prebrunn, her voice again
blended with the enthusiastic shouts of homage to the
man standing in majestic repose before the throne,
the man who was the most exalted of human beings.

She understood only a few words of the brief speech
which the monarch addressed to the new Knight of the
Golden Fleece. She saw for the first time the
dignitaries of so many different nations upon whom
she was gazing down, and most of whom she did not
even know by name. But what did she care how
they were called and who they were? Her eyes were
fixed only on Charles and the young man in the armour
artistically inlaid with gold, peach-coloured silver
brocade, and white silk, who was kneeling before him.

Suppose that a son of hers should be permitted to
share such an honour; suppose that Charles should
some day bend down to her child and kiss his brow
with the paternal affection which he had just showed
to the young duke whom he had wedded to his daughter?
And this daughter was the child of a mother who was
her sister in sorrow, and had been her superior in
nothing, neither in birth nor in beauty.

She said this to herself while she was intently watching
the progress of the solemn ceremonial. How lovingly
and with what enthusiastic reverence Ottavio was now
gazing up into the face of his imperial father-in-law,
and with what grateful fervour, as the youngest Knight
of the Fleece, he kissed his hand! Not only outwardly
but in heart—­the warm light of their eyes
revealed it—­these men, so unlike in age
and gifts, were united; yet Ottavio was not Charles’s
own son, as another would have been whom she wished
to withhold from such a father, and in her selfish
blindness to withdraw from the path to the summit
of all earthly splendour and honour.

Who gave her the right to commit so great, so execrable
a robbery?

What could she, the poor, deserted, scorned toy of
a king—­give to her child, and what the
mightiest of the mighty yonder?

If he was ready to claim as his own the young life
which she expected with hopeful yearning, it would
thereby receive a benefit so vast, a gift so brilliant
that all the wealth of love and care which she intended
to bestow upon it vanished in darkness by comparison.
Charles’s resolve, which she had execrated as
cruel, was harsh only against her who had angered
him, and who could give him so little more; for her
child it meant grandeur and splendour, and thereby,
she thought in her vain folly, the highest happiness
attainable for human beings.

Page 270

Still she gazed as though spellbound at the decorated
stage, but the ceremony was already rapidly approaching
its close. The great nobles surrounded the new
Knight of the Fleece to congratulate him, the Duke
of Alba first; but vouchsafed a few brief, gracious
words only to a few dignitaries, and then, this time
assisted by Quijada, descended to the sedan chair.

Barbara had learned from Frau Traut that his Majesty
knew that she was here in the ladies’ apartments.
Would he now raise his eyes to her, though but for
a brief space?

He was already standing at the door of the sedan chair,
and until now had kept his gaze bent steadily upon
the ground. Meanwhile he must be experiencing
severe pain; she saw it by the lines around the corners
of his mouth. Now he placed his sound right foot
upon the little step; now, before drawing the aching
left one after it, he turned toward Quijada, whose
hand was supporting him under the arm; and now—­no,
she was not mistaken—­now he raised his
eyes with the speed of lightning toward the ladies’
apartments, and for one short second his glance met
hers. Then his head vanished in the sedan chair.

Nevertheless, he had looked toward her, and this was
a great boon. With all her strength she made
it her own, and soon she felt absolutely sure that
when he knew she was so near him he had been unable
to resist the desire to gaze once more into her face.
Perhaps it was intended for a precious farewell gift.

As soon as the sedan chair, amid cheers and the blare
of trumpets, had disappeared in the direction of the
drawbridge and the great main entrance, Barbara retired
to her room. Frau Traut knew not whether she
ought to bless or bewail having obtained permission
for her to witness the bestowal of the Fleece.

At any rate, another great transformation had taken
place in this extremely impressionable young creature.
Barbara’s impetuous nature seemed destroyed
and crushed, and the bright gaiety which had pleased
Frau Dubois so much the first day of their meeting
had greatly diminished. Only on special occasions
her former fiery vivacity burst forth, but the sudden
flame expired as quickly as it had blazed and, dreamily
absorbed in her own thoughts, she obeyed her with the
docility of a child.

This swift and marked change in the disposition of
her charge, whom Quijada and her own husband had described
as so totally different, awakened her anxiety; yet
it was easy to perceive that the volcano had not burned
out, but was merely quiescent for the time.

During the night the dull indifference which she showed
in the day abandoned her, and her attentive companion
often heard her sobbing aloud.

It did not escape Frau Tract’s notice that since
Barbara had seen the Emperor again in the Trausnitz
courtyard a mental conflict had begun which absorbed
her whole being, but the girl did not permit her any
insight into her deeply troubled soul.

Page 271

CHAPTER IX.

The Emperor Charles departed on the morning after
the bestowal of the Golden Fleece, and two days later
Barbara willingly obeyed the leech’s prescription
to seek healing at the springs of Abbach on the Danube,
a few miles south of Ratisbon, which was almost in
the way of those returning thither from Landshut.
The waters there had benefited the Emperor Charles
fourteen years before, and Barbara remained there with
Frau Traut and Lamperi, who had returned to her, until
the trees had put on their gay autumn robes and were
casting them off to prepare for the rest of winter.

The hope of regaining the melody of her voice induced
her conscientiously to follow the physician’s
prescriptions but, like the sulphur spring of Abbach,[??]
they produced no considerable effect.

Barbara’s conduct had also altered in many respects.

The girl who had formerly devoted great attention
to her dress, now often needed to be reminded by Frau
Dubois of her personal appearance when she went with
her to walk or to church.

She avoided all intercourse with other visitors to
the spring after Ratisbon acquaintances had intentionally
shunned her.

The Wollers’ country residence, where she had
formerly been a welcome guest for weeks every summer,
was near Abbach. Anne Mirl was betrothed, and
Nandl was on the eve of accepting a young suitor.
Both were still warmly attached to their cousin, although
they had been told that, by an open love intrigue,
she had forfeited the right to visit the respectable
home of modest maidens. But the man who had honoured
her with his love was no less a personage than the
Emperor Charles, and this circumstance only increased
the sympathy which the sisters felt for their much-admired
friend.

In spite of their mother’s refusal to permit
them to ride to the neighbouring town and visit Barbara,
they did so, that they might try to comfort her; but
though their unfortunate cousin received them and
listened to them a short time, she earnestly entreated
them to obey their mother and not come again.

Frau Traut perceived that she not only desired to
guard the inexperienced girls from trouble, but that
their visit disturbed her. The thoughts which
were in her mind so completely absorbed her that she
now studiously sought the solitude which she had formerly
shunned like a misfortune.

Even Pyramus Kogel’s short letter, informing
her of her father’s convalescence, and the news
from the seat of war which Frau Traut communicated
to her to divert her thoughts, and which she had usually
anticipated with impatient expectation, awakened only
a fleeting interest. Toward the end of the first
week in September her companion could inform her that
the Emperor Charles had met the Smalcalds at Ingolstadt
and, in spite of a severe attack of the gout, had ridden—­with
his aching foot in linen bandages instead of in the
stirrup—­from regiment to regiment, kindling
the enthusiasm of his troops by fiery words.

Page 272

Then Barbara at last listened with more interest,
and asked for other details.

Frau Dubois, to whom her husband from time to time
sent messengers from the camp, now said that the encounter
had not come to an actual battle and a positive decision,
but his Majesty had heeded the shower of bullets less
than the patter of a hailstorm, and had quietly permitted
Appian, the astronomer, to explain a chart of the
heavens in his tent, though the enemy’s artillery
was tearing the earth around it.

But even this could not reanimate the extinguished
ardour of Barbara’s soul; she had merely said
calmly: “We know that he is a hero.
I had expected him to disperse the heretics as the
wolf scatters the sheep and destroy them at a single
blow.”

Then taking her rosary and prayer book, she went to
church, as she did daily at this time. She spent
hours there, not only praying, but holding intercourse
with the image of the Madonna, from which she dill
not avert her eyes, as though it was a living being.
The chaplain who had been given to her associated
with this devout tendency of his penitent the hope
that Barbara would decide to enter a convent; but she
rebuffed in the firmest manner every attempt to induce
her to form this resolve.

In October the northeast wind brought cold weather,
and Frau Traut feared that remaining for hours in
the chilly brick church would injure her charge’s
health, so she entreated Barbara to desist. But
when the latter, without heeding her warning, continued
to visit the house of God as before, and to stay the
same length of time, Frau Dubois interposed a firm
prohibition, and on this occasion she learned for the
first time to what boundlessly vehement rebellion
her charge could allow passion to carry her.
True, soon after Barbara, with winning tenderness,
besought her forgiveness, and it was readily granted,
but Frau Traut knew of no other expedient than to
fix the first of November, which would come in a few
days, for their return to Ratisbon.

Barbara was startled.

During the night her companion heard her weeping vehemently,
and her kind heart led her to her bedside.

With the affectionate warmth natural to her, she entreated
the unhappy girl to calm herself, and to open her
troubled heart to one who felt as kindly toward her
as a mother; and before these friendly words the defiance,
doubts, and fear which had closed Barbara’s heart
melted.

“You may take it from me,” she cried,
amid her streaming tears. “What can a poor
girl give it save want and shame? Its father,
on the contrary—­If he adopts and rears
it as his child—­O Frau Traut! dare I, who
already love it more than my own life, rob it of the
happiness to which it has a right? If the Emperor
acknowledges it, whether it is a boy or a girl, merciful
Heaven, to what Magnificence, what splendour, what
honour my child may attain! My brain often reels
when I think of it. The little daughter of Johanna
Van der Gheynst a Duchess of Parma, and why should
he place the girl whom I shall perhaps give him in
a more humble position? Or if Heaven should grant
me a son, his father will raise him to a still greater
height, and I have already seen him before me a hundred
times as he hangs the Fleece on the red ribbon round
his neck.”

Page 273

Here her voice, still uncertain, failed, but she allowed
Frau Traut to clasp her to her heart and, in her joy
at this decision, which relieved her of a grave anxiety,
to kiss her brow and cheeks. She had at last
perceived, the kindly consoler assured the weeping
girl, what the most sacred duty commanded, and the
course that promised to render her, after so much
suffering, one of the happiest of mothers. All
that had hovered before her as glittering dreams would
be fulfilled, and when her child, as the Emperor’s,
took precedence of the highest and greatest in the
land, she could say to herself that it owed this to
the sacrifice which she, its mother, had voluntarily
made for its sake.

Barbara had told herself the same thing in many lonely
hours, and most frequently in the brick church at
Abbach, opposite to the image of the Mater dolorosa.
She whose intercession never remained unheard had yielded
up, with an aching heart, her divine son, and she must
imitate her. And how much easier was her fate
than that of the stainless virgin, who beheld her
child, the Redeemer of the world, die upon the cross,
while hers, if she resigned him, would attain the
highest earthly happiness!

Frau Traut by no means overlooked the vanity of these
motives. She was only too well aware that there
is no greater boon for a child than the mother’s
loyal, anxious love, and Barbara’s delusion grieved
her. She would gladly have cried: “Keep
your child, overwhelm it with love, be good and unselfish,
so that, in spite of your disgrace, it must honour
you.” But the Emperor’s command and
her husband’s wish were paramount. Besides,
as Barbara was situated, it could not help being better
for the child if the father provided for its education.

The soul of her charge now lay before her like an
open book. The spectacle of the brilliant honour
bestowed upon Duke Ottavio Farnese had sowed in her
heart the seeds which had now ripened to resolution.
She could not know that the vivandiere’s assistant
on the highway, with her abandoned child, had cast
the first germ into Barbara’s mind. Moreover,
she was content to be able to send such welcome tidings
to the camp. The disclosure of the resolve which
she had reached after such severe conflicts exerted
a beneficial influence upon Barbara. Her eyes
again sparkled brightly, and the indifference with
which she had regarded everything that happened to
herself and those about her vanished.

For the first time she asked where she was to find
shelter in Ratisbon; the Emperor’s command closed
Wolf’s house against her; the Prebrunn castle
was only a summer residence, unfit for winter use.
So it was necessary to seek new quarters, and Barbara
did not lack proposals. But the answer from camp
must be awaited, and it came sooner than Frau Dubois
expected. The messenger who brought it was her
husband. His Majesty, he said, rejoiced at Barbara’s
decision, and had commissioned him to take her at
once to Ratisbon and lodge her in the Golden Cross.
The imperial apartments were still at the monarch’s
disposal, and the owner of the house, whom Barbara
did not wish to meet, had gone to Italy to spend the
winter.

Page 274

Herr Adrian did not mention what a favour the sovereign
was showing Barbara by parting with his trusted servant
for several days, but she told herself so with joyful
pride, for she had learned how greatly Charles needed
this man.

The Emperor had dismissed Quijada from attendance
on his person. He knew the Castilian’s
value as a soldier, and would have deemed himself
forgetful of duty had he withheld so able an assistant
from the great cause which he was leading.

At the end of the first week in November Barbara again
entered the Golden Cross in Ratisbon. The great
house seemed dead, but Adrian, in his royal master’s
name, provided for the comfort of the women, who had
been joined by Sister Hyacinthe.

In the name of Frau Dubois, to whom his Majesty gave
it up, Adrian took possession of the Golden Cross,
and as such Barbara was presented to the newly engaged
servants, while his wife was known by them as a Frau
Traut from the Netherlands.

No inhabitant of Ratisbon was informed of the return
of their young fellow-citizen, and Barbara only went
out of doors with her companion early in the morning
or in the twilight, and always closely veiled.
But few persons had seen her after her illness, and
on returning home she often mentioned the old acquaintances
whom she had met without being recognised by them.
The apartments she occupied were warm and comfortable.
The harp and lute had been sent from Prebrunn with
the rest of her property, and though she would not
have ventured to sing even a single note, she resolved
to touch their chords again. Playing on the harp
afforded her special pleasure, and Frau Traut fancied
she could understand her thoughts while doing so.
The tones often sounded as gentle as lullabies, often
as resonant and impetuous as battle songs. In
reply to a question from her companion, Barbara confessed
that while playing she sometimes imagined that she
beheld a lovely girl, sometimes a young hero clad
in glittering armour, with the Golden Fleece on his
neck, rushing to battle against the infidels.

When the women were sitting together in the evening,
Barbara urged her companion, who was familiar with
the court and with Charles’s former life, to
tell her about the Netherlands and Spain, Brussels
and Valladolid, the wars, the monarch’s wisdom,
the journeys of Charles, his intercourse with men
and women, his former love affairs, his married life,
his relatives and children, and again and again of
Johanna Van der Gheynst, the mother of the Duchess
Margaret of Parma. In doing so the clever native
of Cologne never failed to draw brilliant pictures
of the splendour of the imperial court. As a
matter of course, Brussels, the favourite residence
of the Dubois couple, was most honoured in the narrative,
and Barbara could never hear enough of this superb
city. Maestro Gombert had already aroused her
longing for it, and Frau Traut made her, as it were,
at home there.

So December and Christmas flew by. New Year’s
and Epiphany also passed, and when January was over
and the month of February began, a guest arrived in
Ratisbon from the household of the Emperor, who was
now holding his court at Ulm. It was Dr. Mathys,
the leech, who readily admitted that he had come partly
by his Majesty’s desire, partly from personal
interest in Barbara’s welfare.

Page 275

The physician found her in the same mood as after
the relapse. Obedient, calm, yielding, only often
overpowered by melancholy and bitter thoughts and
feelings, yet, on the other hand, exalted by the fact
that the Emperor Charles, for her sake, was now depriving
himself also of this man, whom he so greatly needed.

She awaited the fateful hour with anxious expectation.
The twenty-fourth of February was the Emperor’s
birthday, and if it should come then, if the father
and child should see the light of the world on the
same day of the almanac, surely it must seem to Charles
a favourable omen.

And behold!

On the day of St. Matthias—­that is, the
twenty-fourth of February, Charles’s birthday-at
noon, Frau Traut, radiant with joy, could despatch
the waiting messenger to Ulm with the tidings that
a son had just been born to his Majesty.

The next morning the child was baptized John by the
chaplain who accompanied the women, because this apostle
had been nearest to the Saviour’s heart.

The young mother was not permitted to rejoice at the
sight of her babe. Charles had given orders in
advance what should be done hour by hour, and believed
he was treating the mother kindly by refusing to allow
her to enjoy the sight of the newborn child which
could not remain with her.

This caused much weeping and lamenting, and such passionate
excitement that the bereaved mother nearly lost her
life; but Dr. Mathys devoted the utmost care to her,
and did not leave Ratisbon until after three weeks,
when he could commit the nursing to the experienced
Sister Hyacinths.

But for the trouble in her throat, Barbara would have
been physically as well as ever; her mental suffering
was never greater.

She felt robbed and desolate, like the bird whose
nestlings are stolen by the marten; for all that might
have made her ruined life precious had been taken,
and the man to whom she had surrendered her dearest
treasure did not even express, by one poor word, his
gratitude and joy. No, he seemed to have forgotten
her as well as her future.

Frau Traut had left her with the promise that she
would sometimes send her news of her boy’s health,
yet she, too, remained silent, and was deceiving her
confidence. She could not know that the promise-breaker
thought of her often enough, but that she had been
most strictly forbidden by her imperial master to
tell the boy’s mother his abode or to hold any
further intercourse with her.

How little Charles must care for her, since he now
showed such deep neglect and found no return for all
that she had sacrificed to him save cruel sternness!
Yet the precious gift for which he was indebted to
her must have afforded special pleasure to the man
who attached such great value to omens, for it gave
him the right to cherish the most daring hopes for
the future of his boy. The fact that he was born
on his father’s birthday seemed to her an especial
favour of heaven, and the old chaplain, who still
remained with her, had discovered other singular circumstances
which foreshadowed that the son would become the father’s
peer; for on the twenty-fourth of February Charles
V had been crowned, and on the same day he had won
at Pavia his greatest victory.

Page 276

This had been the most brilliant day in the ruler’s
life, so rich in successes, and now it had also become
the birthday of the boy whom she had given him and
resigned that he might lead it to grandeur, splendour,
and magnificence.

Nothing was more improbable than that the man whose
faithful memory retained everything, and whose active
mind discovered what escaped the notice of others,
should have overlooked this sign from heaven.
And yet she vainly waited for a token of pleasure,
gratitude, remembrance. How this pierced the
soul and corroded the existence of the poor deserted
girl, the bereaved mother, the unfortunate one torn
from her own sphere in life!

At last, toward the end of March, the message so ardently
desired arrived. A special courier brought it,
but how it was worded!

A brief expression of his Majesty’s gratification
at the birth of the healthy, well-formed boy; then,
in blunt words, the grant of a small annual income
and an additional gift, with the remark that his Majesty
was ready, to increase both generously, and, moreover,
to give her ambition every support, if Barbara would
enter a convent. If she should persist in remaining
in the world, what was granted must be taken from
her as soon as she broke her promise to keep secret
what his Majesty desired to have concealed.

The conclusion was: “And so his Majesty
once more urges you to renounce the world, which has
nothing more important to offer you than memories,
which the convent is the best place to cherish.
There you will regain the favour of Heaven, which
it so visibly withdrew from you, and also the regard
of his Majesty, which you forfeited, and he in his
graciousness, and in consequence of many a memory
which he, too, holds dear, would gladly show you again.”

This letter bore the signature of Don Luis Quijada,
and had been written by a poor German copyist, a wretched,
cross-eyed fellow, whom Wolf had pointed out to her,
and whose hand Barbara knew. From his pen also
came the sentence under the major-domo’s name,
“The Golden Cross must be vacated during the
month of April.”

When Barbara had read these imperial decisions for
the second and the third time, and fully realized
the meaning of every word, she clinched her teeth
and gazed steadily into vacancy for a while. Then
she laughed in such a shrill, hoarse tone that she
was startled at the sound of her own voice, and paced
up and down the room with long strides.

Should she reject what the most powerful and wealthy
sovereign in the world offered with contemptible parsimony?
No! It was not much, but it would suffice for
her support, and the additional gift was large enough
to afford her father a great pleasure when he came
home.

Pyramus Kogel’s last letter reported that his
condition was improving. Perhaps he might soon
return. Then the money would enable her to weave
a joy into the sorrow that awaited him. It had
always been a humiliating thought that he had lost
his own house and was obliged to live in a hired one,
and at least she could free him from that.

Page 277

It was evident enough that her pitiful allowance did
not proceed from the Emperor’s avarice; Charles
only wished to force her to obey his wish to shut
her for the rest of her life in a cloister. The
mother of his son must remain concealed from the world;
he desired to spare him in after years the embarrassment
of meeting the woman whose birth was so much more
humble than his own and his father’s. Want
should drive her from the world, and, to hasten her
flight, the shrewd adept in reading human nature showed
her in the distance the abbess’s cross, and tried
thereby to arouse her ambition.

But in her childhood and youth Barbara had been accustomed
to still plainer living than she could grant herself
in future, and she would have been miserable in the
most magnificent palace if she had been compelled
to relinquish her independence. Rather death in
the Danube than to dispense with it!

She was young, healthy, and vigorous, and it seemed
like voluntary mutilation to resign her liberty at
twenty-one. But even had she felt the need of
the lonely cell, quiet contemplation, and more severe
penance than had been imposed upon her in the confessional,
she would still have remained in the world; for the
more plainly the letter showed how eagerly Charles
desired to force her out of it, the more firmly she
resolved to remain in it. How many hopes this
base epistle had destroyed; it seemed as though it
had killed the last spark of love in her soul!

Too much kindness leads to false paths scarcely more
surely than the contrary, and the Emperor’s
cruel decision destroyed and hardened many of the
best feelings in Barbara’s heart, and prepared
a place for resentment and hatred.

The great sovereign’s love, which had been the
sunshine of her life, was lost; her child had been
taken from her; even the home that sheltered her,
and which hitherto she had regarded as a token of its
father’s kindly care, was now withdrawn.
A new life path must be found, but she would not set
out upon it from the Golden Cross, where her brief
happiness had bloomed, but from the place where she
had experienced the penury of her childhood and early
youth.

The very next afternoon she moved into Wolf’s
house. Sister Hyacinthe was obliged to return
to her convent, so no one accompanied her except Frau
Lamperi. She had become attached to Barbara, and
therefore remained in her service instead of returning
to the Queen of Hungary. True, she had not determined
to do so until her mistress had promised to remain
only a few weeks in Ratisbon at the utmost, and then
move to Brussels, where she longed to be.

Ratisbon was no home for the Emperor’s former
favourite. Life in her native city would have
been one long chain of humiliations, now that she
had nothing to offer her fellow-citizens except the
satisfaction of a curiosity which was not always benevolent.

But where should she go, if not to the country where
her child’s father lived, where, she had reason
enough to believe, the infant would be concealed,
and where she might hope to see again and again at
a distance the man to whom hate united her no less
firmly than love?

Page 278

This prospect offered her the greatest attraction,
and yet she desired nothing, nothing more from him
except to be permitted to watch his destiny.
It promised to be no happy one, but this fact robbed
the wish of no charm.

Besides, the desire for a richer life again began
to stir within her soul, and what sustenance for the
eye and ear Gombert, Frau Traut, and now also Lamperi
promised her in Brussels!

Her means would enable her to go there with the maid
and live in a quiet way. If her father forgave
her and would join her in the city, she would rejoice.
But he was bound to Ratisbon by so many ties, and had
so many new tales to relate in its taprooms, that
he would certainly return to it. So she must
leave him; it was growing too hot for her here.

She found old Ursel cheerful, and was less harshly
received than at her last visit. True, Barbara
came when she was in a particularly happy mood, because
a letter from Wolf stated that he already felt perfectly
at home in Quijada’s castle at Villagarcia,
and that Dona Magdalena de Ulloa was a lady of rare
beauty and kindness of heart. Her musical talent
was considerable, and she devoted every leisure hour
to playing on stringed instruments and singing.
True, there were not too many, for the childless woman
had made herself the mother of the poor and sick upon
her estates, and had even established a little school
where he assisted her as singing-master.

So Barbara was at least relieved from self-reproach
for having brought misfortune upon this faithful friend.
This somewhat soothed her sorely burdened heart, and
yet in her old, more than plain lodgings, with their
small, bare rooms, she often felt as though the walls
were falling upon her. Besides, what she saw
from the open window in Red Cock Street was disagreeable
and annoying.

When evening came she went to rest early, but troubled
dreams disturbed her sleep.

The dawn which waked her seemed like a deliverance,
and directly after mass she hurried out of the gate
and into the open country.

On her return she found a letter from her father.

Pyramus Kogel was its bearer, and he had left the
message that he would return the next day. This
time her father had written with his own hand.
The letters were irregular and crooked enough, but
they were large, and there were not too many of them.
He now knew what people were saying about her.
It had pierced the very depths of his old heart and
darkened his life. But he could not curse her,
because she was his only child, and also because he
told himself how much easier her execrable vanity had
made the Emperor Charles’s game. Nor would
he give her up as lost, and his travelling companion.
Pyramus, who was like a son to him, was ready to aid
him, for his love was so true and steadfast that he
still wished to make her his wife, and offered through
him to share everything with her, even his honourable
name.

Page 279

If misfortune had made her modest, if it had crushed
her wicked arrogance, and she was still his own dear
child, who desired her father’s blessing, she
ought not to refuse the faithful fellow who would bring
her this letter, but accept his proposal. On
that, and upon that alone, his forgiveness would depend;
it was for her to show how much or how little she
valued it.

Barbara deciphered this epistle with varying emotions.

Was there no room for unselfish love in the breast
of any man?

Her father, even he, was seeking to profit by that
which united him to his only child. To keep it,
and to secure his blessing, she must give her hand
to the unloved soldier who had shown him kindness and
won his affection.

She again glanced indignantly over the letter, and
now read the postscript also. “Pyramus,”
it ran, “will remain only a short time in Germany,
and go from there directly to Brussels, where he is
on duty, and thence to me in Antwerp.”

Barbara started, her large eyes sparkled brightly,
and a faint flush suddenly suffused her cheeks.
The “plus ultra” was forever at an end
for her. Her boy was living in Brussels near
his father; there she belonged, and she suddenly saw
herself brought so near this unknown, brilliant city
that it seemed like her real home. Where else
could she hope to rid herself of the nightmares that
oppressed her except where she was permitted to see
the man from whom nothing could separate her, no matter
how cruelly he repulsed her?

The only suitable place for her, he thought, was the
cloister. No man, he believed in his boundless
vanity, could satisfy the woman who had once received
in his love.

He should learn the contrary! He should hear—­nay,
perhaps he should see—­that she was still
desired, in spite of the theft which he had committed,
in spite of the cruelty with which Fate had destroyed
the best treasure that it had generously bestowed.

The recruiting officer was certainly a handsome man
and, moreover, of noble birth. Her father wished
to have him for a son, and would forgive her if she
gave him the hand for which he shed.

So let him be the one who should take her to Brussels,
and to whom she would give the right of calling himself
her husband.

Here her brow contracted in a frown, for the journey
on which she was to set out with him would lead not
only to the Netherlands, but through her whole life,
perhaps to the grave.

Deep resentment seized upon her, but she soon succeeded
in conquering it; only the question what she had to
give her suitor in return for his loyal love could
not be silenced. Yet was it she who summoned him?
Did he not possess the knowledge of everything that
might have deterred another from wooing her?
Had she not showed him more than plainly how ill he
had succeeded in gaining her affection? If, nevertheless,
he insisted upon winning her, he must take her as
she was, though the handsome young man would have
had a good right to a heart full of love. Hers,
so long as the gouty traitor lived who had ruined
her whole existence, could never belong entirely to
another.

Page 280

Once she had preferred the handsome, stately dancer
to all other men. Might not this admiration of
his person be revived? No—­oh, no!
And it was fortunate that it was so, for she no longer
desired to love—­neither him nor any one
else. On the other hand, she resolved to make
his life as pleasant as lay in her power. When
what she granted him had reconciled her father to
her, and she was in Brussels, perhaps she would find
strength to treat Pyramus so that he would never repent
his fidelity.

In the afternoon she longed to escape from the close
rooms into the fresh air, and turned her steps toward
Prebrunn, in order to see once more the little castle
which to her was so rich in beautiful and terrible
memories.

On the way she met Frau Lerch. The old woman
had kept her keenness of vision and, though Barbara
tried to avoid her, the little ex-maid stopped her
and asked scornfully:

“Here in Ratisbon again, sweetheart? How
fresh you look after your severe illness!—­yet
you’re still on shank’s mare, instead of
in the gold coach drawn by white horses.”

Barbara abruptly turned her back upon her and went
home.

As she was passing the Town Hall Pyramus Kogel left
it, and she stopped as he modestly greeted her.

Very distinguished and manly he looked in his glittering
armour, with the red and yellow sash and the rapier
with its large, flashing basket-hilt at his side;
yet she said to herself: “Poor, handsome
fellow! How many would be proud to lean on your
arm! Why do you care for one who can never love
you, and to whom you will appear insignificant to the
end?”

Then she kindly clasped the hand which he extended,
and permitted him to accompany her home. On the
Haidplatz she asked him whether he had read the letter
which he brought from her father.

He hesitatingly assented. Barbara lowered her
eyes, and added softly:

“It is my own dear father to whom you have been
kind, and my warmest gratitude is due to you for it.”

The young officer’s heart throbbed faster; but
as they turned into Red Cock Street she asked the
question:

“You are going from here to Brussels, are you
not?”

“To Brussels,” he repeated, scarcely able
to control his voice.

She raised her large eyes to him, and, after a hard
struggle, the words escaped her lips:

“I learned in Landshut, and it was confirmed
by my father’s letter, that you are aware of
what I am accused, and that you know—­I committed
the sin with which they charge me.”

In the very same place where, on an evening never
to be forgotten, he had received the first sharp rebuff
from Barbara, she now confessed her guilt to him—­he
doubtless noticed it. It must have seemed like
a sign from heaven that it was here she voluntarily
approached him, nay, as it were, offered herself to
him. But he loved her, and he would have deemed
it unchivalrous to let her feel now that their relation
to one another had changed. So he only exclaimed
with joyous confidence:

Page 281

“And yet, Barbara, I trustfully place happiness
and honour in your beloved hands. You have long
been clear to me, but now for the first time I believe
confidently and firmly that I have found in you the
very wife for me. The bitter trial imposed upon
you—­I knew it in Landshut—­bowed
your unduly obstinate nature, and if you only knew
how well your modest manner becomes you! So I
entreat permission to accompany you home.”

Barbara nodded assent, and when he had mounted the
steep staircase of the house before her he stopped
in front of the narrow door, and a proud sense of
satisfaction came over him at the thought that the
vow which he had made in this spot was now fulfilled.

Her father had failed to bend this refractory, wonderfully
beautiful iron; he had hoped to try with better fortune,
but Fate had anticipated him, and he was grateful.

Full of blossoming hopes, he now asked, with newly
awakened confidence, whether she would permit him
to cross her threshold as a suitor and become his
dear and ardently worshipped wife, and the low “Yes”
which he received in response made him happy.

A few days after he married her, and journeyed with
her on horseback to the Netherlands.

On the way tidings of the battle of Muhlberg reached
them. The Emperor Charles had utterly routed
the Protestants. He himself announced his great
victory in the words, “I came, I saw, and God
conquered.”

When Pyramus told the news to his young wife, she
answered quietly, “Who could resist the mighty
monarch!”

In Brussels she learned that the Emperor had taken
the Elector of Saxony captive on the battlefield,
but the Landgrave of Hesse had been betrayed into
his power by a stratagem which the Protestants branded
as base treachery, and used to fill all Germany with
the bitterest hatred against him; but here Barbara’s
wrath flamed forth, and she upbraided the slanderous
heretics. It angered her to have the great sovereign
denied his due reverence in her own home; but secretly
she believed in the breach of faith.

BARBARA BLOMBERG

By Georg Ebers

Volume 9.

CHAPTER X.

Three years passed.

Barbara occupied with her husband and the two sons
she had given him a pretty little house in the modest
quarter of Saint-Gery in Brussels.

Here the capital of wealthy, flourishing Brabant certainly
looked very unlike what she had expected from Gombert’s
stories; and how little share she had had hitherto
in the splendour which on the drive to Landshut she
had expected to find in Brussels!

Page 282

Since the musician had described the city, she had
seen it distinctly before her in her vivid imagination.
The lower portion, intersected by the river Senne
and numerous canals, belonged to the rich, industrious
citizens, the skilful artisans, and the common people;
the upper, which occupied a hill, contained the great
Brabant palace, the residence of the Emperor Charles.
This edifice, which, though its exterior was almost
wholly devoid of ornament, nevertheless presented a
majestic aspect on account of its vast size, adjoined
a splendid park, whose leafy groups of ancient trees
merged into the forest of Soignies. Here also
stood the palaces of the great nobles and, on the
side of the hill which sloped to the lower city, the
Cathedral of St. Gudule towered proudly aloft.

Much as Barbara had heard in praise of the magnificent
market-place in the lower city, with its marvellous
Town Hall, it was always the upper portion of Brussels
she beheld when she thought of the capital. She
had felt that she belonged to this quarter, where
all who had any claim to aristocracy lived; here,
near the palace and the beautiful leafy trees, her
future home had been in her imagination.

The result was different, and now the longing for
the brilliant Brussels on the hill was doubly strong.
True, there dwelt also those who had the greatest
power of attraction for her.

She was just returning home from the palace park,
where stood a pleasant summer house in which Adrian
Dubois lived with his wife and one child. It
was this child especially that drew Barbara to the
upper city as often as possible, and constantly forced
her thoughts to linger there and still to follow the
“higher” of the imperial motto, which everywhere
else she was compelled to renounce.

True, a limit was fixed to these visits to the Dubois
couple. For one whole year Frau Traut had successfully
concealed the child from the mother; then Barbara
had once met the boy outside the house, and the way
in which he was hurried out of her sight led to the
conviction that this was her child, and Frau Dubois
had imprudently betrayed the secret.

From this time Barbara knew that her John had been
confided to the care of the valet and his wife.
At last Frau Traut had been unable to resist her entreaties,
and allowed her to see her son and hold him a short
time in her arms.

He was a strong, splendid child, with his mother’s
thick, curling locks and large blue eyes. Barbara
thought that she had never seen a handsomer boy; and
not only the Dubois, who had yielded their whole hearts
to their nursling, but strangers also admired the
magnificent development of this rare child. The
young mother saw in him something grander, more perfect
than the children of other human beings, even than
the two boys whom she had given her husband, although
little John usually repulsed her caresses.

In granting Barbara permission to see her child often,
Frau Traut transgressed an explicit command of the
Emperor and, to prevent the evil consequences which
her sympathy might entail, she allowed the mother to
rejoice in the sight of her little son only once a
month, and then always for a short time.

Page 283

During these interviews she was strictly forbidden
to bestow even the smallest gift upon the boy.

To-day John had voluntarily approached the stranger
to whom he owed his life, but whose passionate caresses
at their first meeting had frightened him, to show
her the little wooden horse that Adrian had just given
him. This had made her happy, and on the way
home the memory of her hidden treasure more than once
brought a joyous smile to her lips.

At home she first sought her children. Her husband,
who had now been appointed mustering officer, was
on one of the journeys required by the service, which
rarely permitted him to remain long in his own house.

Barbara did not miss him; nay, she was happiest during
his absence.

After glancing into the nursery, she retired to her
quiet chamber, where her harp stood and the lutes
hung which often for hours supplied the place of her
lost voice, and sat down at her spinning wheel.

She turned it thoughtfully, but the thread broke,
and her hands fell into her lap. Her mind had
again found the way to the house in the park and to
her John, her own, wonderful, imperial child, and lingered
there until from the next room the cry of an infant
was heard and a woman’s voice singing it to
sleep. Frau Lamperi, who had made herself a part
of the little household, and beheld in its master
the incarnation of every manly virtue, was lulling
the baby to rest. Beside it slept another child,
a boy two years old. Both were hers, yet, though
the infant raised its voice still louder, she remained
at the spinning wheel, dreaming on.

In this way, and while playing on the harp and the
lutes, her solitude was best endured. Her husband’s
journeys often led him through the whole Netherlands
and the valley of the Rhine as far as Strasbourg and
Basle, and her father had returned to Ratisbon.

She had found no new friends in Brussels, and had
not endeavoured to gain any.

Loneliness, which she had dreaded in the heyday of
her early youth, no longer alarmed her, for quiet
reveries and dreams led her back to the time when
life had been beautiful, when she had enjoyed the love
of the greatest of mortals, and art had given her
existence an exquisite consecration.

With the loss of her voice—­she was now
aware of it—­many of the best things in
her life had also ceased to exist. Her singing
might perhaps have lured back her inconstant lover,
and had she come to Brussels possessing the mastery
of her voice which was hers during that happy time
in May, her life would have assumed a totally different
form.

Gombert, who had induced her to move hither, had urged
her with the best intentions during their drive to
Landshut to change her residence. When he did
so, however, Barbara was still connected with the Emperor,
and he was animated by the hope that the trouble in
her throat would be temporary.

Page 284

It would have been easy to throw wide to a singer
of her ability the doors of the aristocratic houses
which were open to him; for, except his professional
comrades, he associated only with the wealthy nobles
in the upper part of the city, who needed him for
the brilliant entertainments which they understood
how to arrange so superbly. The Oranges, Egmont,
Aremberg, Brederode, Aerschot, and other heads of the
highest nobility in Brabant would have vied with one
another to present her to their guests, receive her
at their country seats, and invite her to join their
riding parties. Where, on the contrary, could
he expect to find a friendly reception for the wife
of a poor officer belonging to the lower nobility,
who was said to have forfeited the Emperor’s
favour, who could offer nothing to the ear, and to
the eye only a peculiar style of beauty, which she
could enhance neither by magnificent attire nor by
any other arts?

Had she been still the Emperor Charles’s favourite,
or had he bestowed titles and wealth upon her, more
might have been done for her; but as it was, nothing
was left of the favour bestowed by the monarch save
the stain upon her fair name. Deeply as Gombert
regretted it, he could therefore do nothing to make
her residence in Brussels more agreeable. He
was not even permitted to open his own house to her,
since his wife, who was neither more jealous nor more
scrupulous than most other wives of artists, positively
refused to receive the voiceless singer with the tarnished
reputation.

Worthy Appenzelder associated exclusively with men,
and thus of her Ratisbon friends not one remained
except Massi, the violinist, and the Maltese choir
boy, Hannibal Melas.

The little fellow had lost his voice, but had remained
in Brussels and, in fact, through Barbara’s
intercession; for she had ventured to recommend the
clever, industrious lad to the Bishop of Arras in a
letter which reminded him of his kindness in former
days, and the latter had been gracious, and in a cordial
reply thanked her for her friendly remembrance.
Hannibal had remained in the minister’s service
and, as he understood several languages and proved
trustworthy, was received among his private secretaries.

The violinist Massi remained faithful and, as he became
her husband’s friend also, he was always a welcome
guest in her house.

Her father had returned to Ratisbon. After he
had acted as godfather to the oldest boy, Conrad,
he could be detained no longer. Homesickness had
obtained too powerful a hold upon him.

True, Barbara and her husband did everything in their
power to make life in their home pleasant; but he
needed the tavern, and there either the carousing
was so noisy that it became too much for him, or people
often had very violent political discussions about
liberty and faith, which he only half understood,
though they used the Flemish tongue. And the
Danube, the native air, the familiar faces! In
short, he could not stay with his children, though
he dearly loved his little godson Conrad; and it pleased
him to see his daughter more yielding and ready to
render service than ever before, and to watch her
husband, who, as the saying went at home, “was
ready to let her walk over him.”

Page 285

The husband’s intention of making the unbending
iron pliant was wholly changed; the recruiting officer
whom his companions and subordinates knew and feared
as one of the sternest of their number, showed himself
to Barbara the most yielding of men. The passionate
tenderness with which he loved her had only increased
with time, and the stern soldier’s subjection
to her will went so far that, even when he would gladly
have expressed disapproval, he usually omitted to
do so, because he dreaded to lessen the favour which
she showed him in place of genuine love, and which
he needed. Besides, she gave him little cause
for displeasure; she did her duty, and strove to render
his outward life a pleasant one.

Even after her father had left her she remained a
wife who satisfied his heart. He had learned
the coolness of her nature in his first attempts to
woo her in Ratisbon and, as at that time, he whom the
service frequently detained from her for long periods
regarded it as a merit.

So he wrote her father letters expressing his gratification,
and the replies which the captain sent to Brussels
were in a similar tone.

Barbara had obtained for him his own house, for which
he had longed. He felt comfortable there, and
what he lacked in his home he found at the Red Cock
or the Black Bear. An elderly Landshut widow,
a relative, acted as his housekeeper and provided
in the best possible manner for his comfort.

Whoever met the stately mustering officer alone or
arm in arm with his beautiful young wife, whose golden
hair had grown out again, must have believed him a
happy man; and so he would have been had not some singular
habits which Barbara possessed made him uneasy.
At first the reveries into which she often sank, and
which were so unlike her former self, had been still
worse. He did not know that the improvement had
taken place since she had discovered her John’s
abode and been permitted sometimes to see him.
Barbara’s husband and father supposed that the
child which she had given to the Emperor was dead;
both had placed this interpretation upon her brief
statement that it had been taken from her, and afterward
delicacy of feeling prevented any other allusion to
this painful subject.

Besides this proneness to reverie, Barbara’s
husband was sometimes disturbed by the carelessness
with which she neglected the most important domestic
matters if there was an entertainment or exhibition
which the Emperor Charles attended; and, finally,
there was something in her manner to the children,
whom Pyramus loved above all things, which disturbed,
incensed, and wounded him, yet which he felt that neither
threats nor stern interposition could change.

He possessed no defence against the reveries except
a warning or a jesting word. Delight in brilliant
spectacles was doubtless natural to her disposition,
and as Pyramus not only loved but esteemed her, it
was repugnant to his feelings to watch her. Yet
when, nevertheless, he once followed her steps, he
had found her, according to her expressed intention,
among other women in St. Gudule’s Cathedral.
Her eyes, which he watched intently, were constantly
turned toward the great personages whose presence
adorned the festival—­the Emperor and Queen
Mary of Hungary.

Page 286

These expeditions were evidently not to meet a lover,
yet from that hour he cherished a conviction, mingled
with a bitter sense of resentment, that she went to
the festivals which his Majesty attended in order to
see the man whom she had once loved, and whose image
even now she could not wholly efface from her imagination,
perhaps also from her heart.

For her manner to the children, on the contrary, he
could find no plausible explanation. Her love
for them was unmistakable. Yet what was the meaning
of the compassionate manner with which she treated
them, talked to them, spoke of them, until it nearly
drove him frantic? She often treated the healthy,
merry older boy as if he was ill and needed comfort,
and the pretty infant in the cradle was addressed in
the same way.

If he summoned up his courage and openly reproved
her, she always answered in general terms, such as:
“What do you mean? Are we not all born
to suffer?” or, “Shall we envy them because
they have entered life to endure pain and to die?”

Not until Pyramus, with sorrowful emotion, entreated
her not to speak of the children as if they had been
given to them for a punishment and not for a joy,
she imposed a certain degree of constraint upon herself
and changed her manner of speech; yet the expression
of her eyes revealed that she felt no really glad,
unconstrained joy in her sons.

Though she denied it, she knew how to explain this
manner to herself; for, after her attention had been
directed to it, she secretly admitted that the sight
of the two dear children who were wholly hers always
reminded her of the third who had been taken from her,
whom she was permitted to see very rarely, and only
in secret, yet who, beside the others, seemed like
a young lion beside modest lambs.

She cherished no desire for a new love, though the
lukewarm blending of gratitude and good will which
she bestowed upon her husband did not even remotely
deserve this lofty name.

There was no lack of gallants in Brussels who noticed
and were attracted by her, but whoever knew or had
heard of Pyramus Kogel avoided interfering with his
rights; for he was numbered among the best swordsmen
in Brussels, and the air with which the tender-hearted
husband wore his long rapier was decidedly threatening.

Besides, Barbara herself also knew how to protect
herself against any intrusiveness with haughty sharpness.

To-day she was especially glad that Pyramus was absent
on an inspecting tour. She had gratefully enjoyed
the meeting with her John. Never had the light
of his blue eyes seemed so sunny, his head with its
fair curls so angelic in its beauty. His voice,
too, had enraptured her by its really bewitching melody.
The maternal gift of song would certainly descend to
him, and perhaps it was allotted to the Emperor’s
son to amaze his generation by the presence of hero
and singer in one person, like a second King David.

Page 287

Twilight had already shadowed the paths when she left
the Dubois house, and on her way home she saw the
Emperor approaching. She had slipped behind a
statue as quickly as possible, and he could scarcely
have recognised her, for the gloaming had already
merged into partial darkness; but the mere thought
of having been so near him quickened the pulsation
of her heart.

The little gentleman at his side with the stiffly
erect bearing and pompous walk was his son Philip,
who was now visiting his father in Brussels, and expected
to leave in a few days. How insignificant was
the figure of the heir of so many crowns! How
the brother whom she had given to his imperial father
would some day tower above him!

She again imagined all these things in the quiet of
her room. The thought of this child cheered her
heart, but it contracted again as she remembered the
series of bitter humiliations which she had experienced
in Brussels. Among the courtiers whom she had
known so well in Ratisbon not one vouchsafed her anything
more than a passing greeting; and the Queen of Hungary,
to whom she would gladly have poured out her heart,
had refused her repeated entreaties for an audience.

CHAPTER XI.

After the short walk in the park of his palace, during
which Barbara had met him in the dusk, the Emperor
Charles had dined with his son Philip and the Queen
of Hungary. Now he entered his spacious study.

His feet were refusing their support more and more,
and the fingers of his right hand, which the gout
was now crippling, found it hard to grasp his cane.

He sank back in his arm-chair exhausted, closed his
eyes, and laid his hand upon the clever pointed head
of the greyhound which lay at his feet.

The short walk and the fiery wine which he had again
enjoyed in abundance at dinner had increased the pain
from which he was now never free, day or night, and
it was some time ere Adrian could succeed in propping
his infirm body comfortably.

At last Charles passed his handkerchief across his
perspiring brow, and called to the majordomo.

Quijada eagerly approached, and the valet was respectfully
leaving the room, but the Emperor’s summons
stopped him.

“I have something,” Charles began, no
longer able to maintain complete control over his
voice, which was sometimes interrupted by the shortness
of breath that had recently attacked him, “to
say to you also—­”

Here he hesitated, pointed to the window which overlooked
the park, then, with a keen glance at the valet’s
face, continued:

“A ghost wanders about there. I have already
seen it several times under the trees. True,
it avoided approaching me. What still remains
useful in this miserable body! But my eyes are
sharp yet, and I recognised the spectre—­it
is the Ratisbon singer.”

“Your Majesty knows,” replied Quijada,
“what befell her after the birth of the child,
and that she is now living here in Brussels; but I
was strictly forbidden to mention her name in your
Majesty’s presence.”

Page 288

“That command closed my lips also,” said
the valet.

“But what the hearing rejected forced itself
upon the sight,” remarked Charles, gazing fixedly
into vacancy. “Wherever I appear in public
I see this woman, always this woman! It is not
only the basilisk’s eye that has constraining
power. I can not help perceiving her, yet I have
as little desire to meet her gaze as to encounter
vanity, worldly pleasure, folly, sin.”

“Then,” cried Quijada angrily, “it
will be advisable to transfer her husband, who is
in your Majesty’s service, from here to Andalusia
or to the New World.”

“As if she would accompany him!” exclaimed
the monarch with a scornful laugh. “No,
my friend. This woman did not marry for her own
pleasure, but to cause me sorrow or indignation.
She succeeded, too, to a certain extent; but I do
not war with women, least of all with one who is so
unhappy. If we send her husband—­who,
moreover, is a useful fellow—­across the
ocean, she will stay here in Brussels, and we shall
fare like the maid-servants who killed the cocks, and
were then waked by the mistress of the house still
earlier than before. Besides, one who earnestly
seeks his true salvation will not remove from his path
such a living memento, such a walking monitor of past
sins and follies; and, finally, this woman is not
wholly wrong in deeming herself an unusual person,
cruelly as Heaven has destroyed her best gift.
On no account—­you hear me—­shall
she be wounded or injured for my sake so long as she
reminds me only by her eyes that in happier days we
were closely connected. But to-day the ghost
ventured to draw nearer to me than is seemly, and
I recognise the object. It entered the park, not
on my account, but the boy’s—­and,
Adrian, from your house. I demand the whole truth!
Did she find the way to the boy, and was your wife,
who is usually a prudent woman, unwise enough to allow
her to feast her eyes upon him?”

“I know,” Charles interrupted the faithful
attendant in a sterner tone than he commonly used
to him, “that you were most positively forbidden
to permit any one to approach the boy, least of all
the person who gazes at him with greedy eyes, and
from whom might proceed measureless perils. Your
wife, Adrian, who is tenderly attached to the child,
will now suffer the most painfully for the disobedience.
It must go away from here, go at once, and to a distant
country—­to Spain. If politics and Heaven
permit, I shall soon follow.—­You, Luis,
will now arrange with Adrian the best plan for the
removal. The work must be accomplished in the
utmost secrecy. The boy shall grow up in the
wholesome air of the country. No one who surrounds
him must be permitted even to suspect to whom he owes
his life. This child shall be simple in his habits,
devout, and modest, far from flattery and spoiling,
among other lads of plain families, who know nothing

Page 289

of heresy and court follies. This innocent child’s
soul, at least, shall not be corrupted at its root.
I consecrated him to the Saviour, and as a pure sacrifice
he must receive him from his father’s hand.
I have given him a beautiful charge. In the monastery
his prayers will remove the guilt of him who gave
him life. The pardon for which the mother refused
to strive, the son, consecrated to Jesus Christ our
Lord, will struggle to obtain.”

With uplifted gaze he interrupted himself. His
eyes flashed with a fiery light, and his voice gained
an imperious tone, which showed no trace of the asthmatic
trouble that had just affected it as he added:
“But the secret which even the reckless mother
has hitherto known how to guard must be kept.
Not even your wife, Luis, not even our sister, Queen
Mary, must learn what is being accomplished.”

Then he added more quietly: “The opportunity
to take the boy to Spain is favourable. Our son,
Don Philip, will return in three weeks to Valladolid.
The child can be carried in his train. It will
disappear among the throng, for an actual army forms
the tail of the comet. I will hear your proposal
to-morrow. Who is to take charge of him on the
way? Where can a suitable shelter for the boy
be found in Spain?”

This announcement fell upon the valet like a thunderbolt,
for little John, who regarded him and his wife as
his parents, had become as dear to the childless couple
as if he was their own. To part from the beautiful,
frank, merry boy would darken Frau Traut’s whole
life. He, Adrian, had warned her, but she had
been unable to resist the entreaties of the sorely
punished mother. Cautiously as Barbara’s
visits had been managed, the infirm monarch’s
eye had maintained its keenness of vision here also.

Now his wife must pay dearly for her weakness and
disobedience. Frau Traut was threatened, too,
with another loss. Massi, the most intimate friend
of their house, also expected to return to Spain in
the Infant Philip’s train, to spend the remainder
of his days there in peace. Permission to depart
had been granted to him a few hours before.

Little John was fond of this frequent visitor of his
foster-parents, who could whistle so beautifully and
knew how to play for him upon a blade of grass or
a comb; but this was not the only reason which made
Adrian think of giving the Emperor’s son to
the musician’s care for the journey to Spain,
where Massi’s wife and daughter were awaiting
his return at Leganes, near Madrid. In this healthfully
located village lived a pastor and a sacristan of
whom the musician had spoken, and who perhaps later
might take charge of the child’s education.

Adrian informed Don Luis and then the monarch of all
this, and as Quijada knew Massi to be a trustworthy
man, and described him to his royal master, Charles
entered into negotiations with him.

The result was that a formal compact was concluded
between Dubois and the musician, which granted the
violinist considerable emoluments, but bound him and
his family by oath to maintain the most absolute secrecy
concerning the child’s origin. Moreover,
Massi himself knew nothing about the boy’s parents
except that they belonged to the most aristocratic
circles, and he was inclined to believe little John
to be Quijada’s son.

Page 290

The sovereign himself examined the agreement, and
at its close made Frau Traut take a special oath to
preserve the most absolute secrecy about everything
concerning the boy to every one, even Barbara.

What Adrian had expected happened. The Emperor’s
command to take her darling from her affected his
wife most painfully. With eyes reddened by weeping,
and an aching heart, she awaited the day of departure.

On the evening before the journey she was sitting
by the child’s couch to enjoy the sight of him
as much as possible. Wholly absorbed in gazing
at his infantile grace and patrician beauty, she did
not hear the door open, and started in terror at the
sound of footsteps close behind her.

Her husband had ushered the Emperor and Quijada, on
whose arm he was leaning, into the nursery without
announcing his entrance. She involuntarily pressed
her finger on her lips to intimate that the child
must not be roused from its slumber; but the gesture
was instantly followed by the profound bow due to
the sovereign, and then, with tears in her eyes, she
held the light so that it might fall upon the face
of the lovely child.

A flush tinged the livid features of the invalid,
prematurely aged monarch, and at a wave of his hand
the foster-mother left him and his companion alone
with the little one. Charles gazed suspiciously
around the small, neat room.

Not until he had assured himself that he was alone
did he look closely at the son who lay with flushed
cheeks on the white pillows of his little bed in the
sound slumber of childhood.

Rarely had he seen a more beautiful boy. How
finely chiselled were these childish features, how
thick and wavy the curls that clustered around his
head! The golden lustre which shone from them
had also brightened his mother’s hair.
And the smile on the cherry lips of the slightly open
mouth. That, too, was familiar to him. The
child had inherited it from Barbara. Memories
which had long since paled in his soul, oppressed by
suffering and disappointment, regained their vanished
forms and colours, and for the first time in many
months a smile hovered upon his lips.

What an exquisite image of the Creator was this child!
and he might call it his own, and if, as he intended,
it grew up an innocent, happy lad, it would also become
a genuine man, with a warm heart and simple, upright
nature, not a moving marble figure, inflated by pompous
self-conceit, incapable of any deep feeling, any untrammelled
emotion, like his son Philip. Then it might happen
that from love, from a real living impulse of the
heart, he would fall upon his neck; then——­

He stretched both hands towards the little bed and,
obeying a mighty impulse of paternal affection, bent
toward the boy to kiss him. But ere his lips
touched the child’s he again gazed around him
like a thief who is afraid of being caught. At
last he yielded to the longing which urged him, and
kissed little John—­his, yes, his own son—­first
on his high, open brow, and then on his red lips.

Page 291

How sweet it was! Yet while he confessed this
a painful emotion blended with the pleasure.

He had again thought of Barbara, of her first kiss
and the other joys of the fairest May-time of his
life, and the anxious fear stole upon him that he
might give sin a power over his soul which, after undergoing
a heavy penance, he thought he had broken.

Nothing, nothing at all, he now said to himself, ought
to bind him to the woman whom he had effaced from
the book of his life as unworthy, rebellious, lost
to salvation; and, in a totally different mood, he
again gazed at the child. It already wore the
semblance of an angel in the gracious Virgin’s
train, and it should be dedicated to her and her divine
Son.

Then the boy drew his little arm from under his head.

How strong he was! how superbly the chest of this
child not yet four years old already arched!
This bud, when it had bloomed to manhood, might prove
itself, as he himself had done in his youth, the stronger
among the strong. He carefully examined the harmoniously
developed little muscles. What a knight this
child promised to become! Surely it was hardly
created for quiet prayer and the inactive peace of
the cloister! He was still free to dispose of
the boy. If he should intrust his physical development
to the reliable Quijada, skilled in every knightly
art, and to Count Lanoi, famed as a rider and judge
of horses; confide the training of his mind and soul
to the Bishop of Arras, the learned Frieslander Viglius,
or any other clever, strictly religious man, he might
become a second Roland and Bayard—­nay,
if a crown fell to his lot, he might rival his great-grandfather,
the Emperor Max, and—­in many a line he,
too, had done things worthy of imitation—­him,
his father. The possession of this child would
fill his darkened life with sunshine, his heart, paralyzed
by grief and disappointment, with fresh pleasure in
existence throughout the brief remainder of his earthly
pilgrimage. If he, the father, acknowledged him
and aided him to become a happy, perhaps a great man,
this lovely creature might some day be a brilliant
star in the firmament of his age.

Here he paused. The question, “For how
long?” forced itself upon him. He, too,
during the short span of youth had been a hero and
a victorious knight. With secure confidence he
had undertaken to establish for himself and his family
a sovereignty of the world which should include the
state and the Church. “More, farther,”
had been his motto, and to what stupendous successes
it had led him! Three years before he had routed
at Muhlberg his most powerful rivals. As prisoners
they still felt his avenging hand.

And now? At this hour?

Page 292

The hope of the sovereignty of the world lay shattered
at his feet. The wish to obtain the German imperial
crown for his heir and successor, Philip, had proved
unattainable. It was destined for his brother,
Ferdinand of Austria, and afterward for the latter’s
son, Maximilian. To lead the defeated German
Protestants back to the bosom of the Holy Church appeared
more and more untenable. Here in the Netherlands
the heretics, in consequence of the Draconian severity
of the regulations which he himself had issued, had
been hung and burned by hundreds, and hitherto he
had gained nothing but the hatred of the nation which
he preferred to all others. His bodily health
was destroyed, his mind had lost its buoyancy, and
he was now fifty years old. What lay before him
was a brief pilgrimage—­perchance numbering
only a few years—­here on earth, and the
limitless eternity which would never end. How
small and trivial was the former in comparison with
the latter, which had no termination! And would
he desire to rear for the space of time that separates
the grave from the cradle the child for whom he desired
the best blessings, instead of securing for him salvation
for the never-ceasing period of eternal life?

No! This beauty, this strength, should be consecrated
to no vain secular struggle, but to Heaven. The
boy when he matured to a correct judgment would thank
him for this decision, which was really no easy one
for his worldly vanity.

Then he reverted to the wish with which he had approached
the child’s couch. The son, from gratitude,
should take upon himself for his father and, if he
desired, also for his refractory mother, what both
had neglected—­the care for their eternal
welfare—­in prayer and penance.

By consecrating him to Heaven and rearing him for
a peaceful existence in God, far from the vain pleasures
of the world and the court he had done his best for
his son and, as if he feared that the sight of his
beautiful, strong boy might shake his resolution, he
turned away from him and called Quijada.

While Charles in a fervent, silent prayer commended
John to the favour of Heaven, the most faithful of
his attendants was gazing at the sovereign’s
son. Hitherto Heaven had denied him the joy of
possessing a child. How he would have clasped
this lovely creature to his heart if it had been his!
What a pleasure it would have been to transmit everything
that was excellent and clever in himself to this child!
To devote it to a monastic life was acting against
the purpose of the Providence that had dowered it
with such strength and beauty.

The Emperor could not, ought not to persist in this
intention.

While he was supporting his royal master through the
dark park he ventured to repeat what Adrian and his
wife had told him of the strength and fearlessness
of the little John, and then to remark what rare greatness
this boy promised to attain as the son of such a father.

Page 293

“The highest of all!” replied Charles
firmly. “He only is truly great who in
his soul feels his own insignificance and deems trivial
all the splendour and the highest honours which life
can offer; and to this genuine greatness, Luis, I
intend to rear this young human plant whose existence
is due to weakness and sin.”

Quijada again summoned up his courage, and observed:

“Yet, as the son of my august ruler, this child
may make claims which are of this world.”

“What claims?” cried the Emperor suspiciously.
“His birth?—­the law gives him none.
What earthly possessions may perhaps come to him he
will owe solely to my favour, and it would choose
for him the only right way. Claims—­mark
this well, my friend—­claims to the many
things which will remain of my greatness and power
when I have closed my pilgrimage beneath the sun,
can be made by one person only—­Don Philip,
my oldest son and lawful heir.”

Not until after he had rested in his study did Charles
resume the interrupted conversation, and say:

“It may be that this boy will grow up into a
more brilliant personality than my son Philip; but
you Castilians and faithful servants of the Holy Church
ought to rejoice that Heaven has chosen my lawful son
for your king, for he is a thorough Spaniard, and,
moreover, cautious, deliberate, industrious, devout,
and loyal to duty. True, he knows not how to win
love easily, but he possesses other means of maintaining
what is his and still awaits him in the future.
My pious son will not let the gallows become empty
in this land of heretical exaltation. Had the
Germans put him in my place, he would have become
a gravedigger in their evangelical countries.
He never gave me what is called filial affection, not
even just now in the parting hour; yet he is an obedient
son who understands his father. Instead of a
heart, I have found in him other qualities which will
render him capable of keeping his heritage in these
troubled times and preserving the Holy Church from
further injury. If I were weaker than I am, and
should rear yonder splendid boy, who charmed you also,
Luis, under my own eyes with paternal affection, many
an unexpected joy might grow for me; but I still have
an immense amount of work to do, and therefore lack
time to toy with a child. It is my duty to replace
this boy’s claims, which I can not recognise,
with higher ones, and I will fulfill it.”

CHAPTER XII.

During this conversation the violinist Massi had been
to take leave of Barbara. Pyramus, after a short
stay at home, had been obliged to depart again to
an inspection in Lowen, and the musician was sorry
not to find his friend. He did not know to whom
the child that had been intrusted to his care belonged,
and, as he had bound himself by a solemn oath to maintain
secrecy toward every one, he did not utter a word to
Barbara about the boy and the obligations which he
had undertaken.

Page 294

The parting was a sad one to the young wife, for in
Massi she lost not only a tried friend, but as it
were a portion of her former life. He had been
a witness of the fairest days which Fate had granted
her; he had heard her sing when she had been justified
in feeling proud of her art; and he had been intimate
with Wolf Hartschwert, whom she remembered with affectionate
interest, though he had only informed her once in a
brief letter that he was prospering in Villagarcia
and his new position. While with tearful eyes
she bade Massi farewell, she gave him messages of
remembrance to Wolf; and the violinist, no less agitated
than herself, promised to deliver them. He was
hopefully anticipating a cheerful evening of life
in the midst of his family. Existence had promised
Barbara higher things, but she seemed to have found
the power to be content. At least he had heard
no complaint from her lips, and her husband had often
told him of the happiness which he had obtained through
her in marriage. So he could leave her without
anxiety; but she, even in the hour of parting, was
too proud to offer him a glimpse of her desolate life,
whose fairest ornaments were memories.

When he left her the young wife felt still poorer
than before, and during the sleepless night which
in imagination she had spent with her imperial child
in the Dubois house, and in the days of splendour and
misery at Ratisbon, she determined to clasp once more
the hand of her departing friend when he set out with
the Infant Philip’s train.

Although it was to start early in the morning, she
was in the square in ample time, partly because she
hoped to see the Emperor in the distance.

The throng that followed Philip really did resemble
an army.

Barbara had already often seen the short, slender
‘Infant’, with his well-formed, fair head
and light, pointed beard, who held himself so stiffly
erect, and carried his head as high as if he considered
no one over whom his glance wandered worthy of so
great an honour.

It seemed strange to her, too, how well this man,
naturally so insignificant in person, succeeded in
giving his small figure the appearance of majestic
dignity. But how totally unlike him his father
must have looked in his youth! There was something
austere, repellent, chilling, in the gaze which, while
talking with others, he usually fixed upon the ground,
and, in fact, in the whole aspect of the son.
How brightly and frankly, on the contrary, his father’s
eyes, in spite of all his suffering, could sparkle
even now! How easy it would be for him to win
hearts still!

If he would only come!

But this time he did not accompany his son. Philip
was on horseback, but a magnificent empty coach in
the procession would receive him as soon as he left
Brussels.

He wished to present a gallant appearance in the saddle
on his departure, and a more daintily, carefully clad
cavalier could scarcely be imagined.

Page 295

His garments fitted like a glove, and were of faultless
fineness. Queen Mary, the regent, rode at his
side, and the Brabant nobles, the heads of the Brussels
citizens, and his Spanish courtiers formed his retinue.
The leaders of the Netherland nobility were figures
very unlike in stature and size to Philip; but he
could vie in haughty majesty with any of them.
Not a limb, not an expression lacked his control a
single instant. He desired to display to these
very gentlemen in every inch of his person his superior
power and grandeur, and especially not to be inferior
to them in chivalrous bearing.

To a certain extent he succeeded in doing so; but
his aunt, Queen Mary, seemed unwilling to admit it,
for just when he showed his arrogant dignity most
plainly a smile by no means expressive of reverence
hovered around the mouth of the frank royal huntress.

Barbara had soon wearied of gazing at the magnificent
garments and horses of these grandees. As Charles
did not appear, the only person in the endless procession
who attracted her attention was Massi, whom she soon
discovered on his insignificant little horse; but he
did not heed her eager signals, for he was talking
earnestly to the occupant of the large litter borne
by two mules that moved beside him.

Barbara tried to force her way to him, and when she
succeeded her cheeks suddenly burned hotly, and a
swift dread checked her progress; for from the great
window of the litter a wonderfully beautiful little
head, covered with fair curls, looked forth, and two
little arms were extended toward the violinist.

How gleefully this child’s eyes sparkled! how
his whole little figure seemed instinct with joy and
life while gazing at the horseman at the side of the
street who was having a hard struggle with his refractory
stallion!

No one knew this boy better than she, for it was her
own son, the imperial child she had given to the Emperor.
At the same time she thought of her other two boys,
and her face again wore a compassionate expression.
Not they, but this little prince from fairyland was
her first-born, her dearest, her true child.

But where were they taking her John? What had
Massi to do with him? Why should the boy be in
Philip’s train?

There was only one explanation. Her child was
being conveyed to Spain.

Had the father heard that she had discovered his abode,
and did he wish to remove it from the mother whom
he hated?

Was it being taken there merely that it might grow
up a Castilian?

Did Charles desire to rear it there to the grandeur
and splendour for whose sake she had yielded him?

Yet whatever was in view for John, he would be beyond
her reach as soon as the ship to which he was being
conveyed weighed anchor.

But she would not, could not do without seeing him!
The light of day would be darkened for her if she
could no longer hope to gaze at least now and then
into his blue eyes and to hear the sound of his clear,
childish tones.

Page 296

“This too! this too!” she hissed, as if
frantic; and as the guards forced her out of the procession
she followed it farther and farther through the heat
and dust, as though attracted by some magnetic power.

Her feet moved involuntarily while her gaze rested
on the litter, and she caught a glimpse sometimes
of a golden curl, sometimes of a little hand, sometimes
of the whole marvellously beautiful fair head.

Not until the train stopped and the lords, ladies,
and gentlemen who were escorting Philip turned their
horses and left him did she recollect herself.
To follow these horsemen, coaches, carts, litters,
and pedestrians just as she was would have been madness.
Her place was at home with her husband and children.
Ten times she repeated this to herself and prepared
to turn back; but the force which drew her to her
child was stronger than the warning voice of reason.

At any rate, she must speak to Massi and learn where
he was taking the boy. He had not yet seen her;
but now, as the train stopped, she forced her way
to him.

Amazed at meeting her, he returned her greeting, and
granted her request to let her speak with him a few
minutes,

Greatly perplexed, he swung himself from the saddle,
flung his bridle to a groom, and followed her under
a mountain-ash tree which stood by the roadside.
Barbara had used the time of his dismounting to gaze
at her child again, and to impress his image upon
her soul. She dared not call to him, for she
had sworn to keep the secret, and the boy, who so often
repulsed her eager advances, would perhaps have turned
from her if she had gone close to him and attempted
to kiss him through the window.

This reserve was so hard for her that her eyes were
full of tears when Massi approached to ask what she
desired. She did not give him time for even a
single question, but with frantic haste inquired who
the boy in the litter was, and where he intended to
take him.

But her friend, usually so obliging, curtly and positively
refused to give her any information. Then forming
a hasty resolve, Barbara besought him if it were possible
to take her with him to his home. Life in her
own house had become unendurable. If a nurse
was wanted for this child, no matter to whom it might
belong, let him give her the place. She would
devote herself to the boy day and night, more faithfully
than any mother, and ask no wages for it, only she
would and must go to Spain.

Massi had listened to her rapid words in warm; nay,
he was thoroughly startled. The fire that flashed
from Barbara’s blue eyes, the anguish which
her quivering features expressed, suggested the thought
that she had lost her reason, and with sympathizing
kindness he entreated her to think of his friend her
husband, and her splendid boys at home. But when
she persisted that she must go to Spain, he remembered
that a bond of love had once united her to his friend
Wolf Hartschwert, and in bewilderment he asked if
it was the knight who attracted her there.

Page 297

“If you think so, yes,” she exclaimed.
“Only I must go to Spain, I must go to Spain!”

Again Massi was seized with the conviction that he
was dealing with a madwoman, and as the procession
started he only held out his hand to her once more,
earnestly entreated her to calm herself, sent his remembrances
to her husband and children, and then swung himself
into the saddle.

Barbara remained standing by the side of the road
as if turned to stone, gazing after the travellers
until the dust which they raised concealed them from
her gaze. Then she shook her head and slowly returned
to Brussels.

Pyramus would come home at noon. Lamperi and
the maid might provide the meal and attend to the
rest of the household affairs. It was far past
twelve, and it would still be a long time before she
went home, for she must, yes, must go up to the palace
park and to the Dubois house to inquire where her
soul must seek her child in future.

Her feet could scarcely support her when she entered
the dwelling.

Startled at her appearance, Frau Traut compelled the
exhausted woman to sit down. How dishevelled,
nay, wild, Barbara, who was usually so well dressed,
looked! But she, too, that day did not present
her usual dainty appearance, and her eyes and face
were reddened by weeping. Barbara instantly noticed
this, and it confirmed her conjecture. This woman,
too, was bewailing the child which the cruel despot
had torn from her.

“He is on the way to Spain!” she cried
to the other. “There is nothing to conceal
here.”

Frau Traut started, and vehemently forbade Barbara
to say even one word more about the boy if she did
not wish her to show her the door and close it against
her forever.

But this was too much for the haughty mother of the
Emperor’s son. The terrible agitation of
her soul forced an utterance, and in wild rebellion
she swore to the terrified woman that she would burden
herself with the sin of perjury and break the silence
to which she had bound herself if she did not confess
to her where Massi was taking her boy. She would
neither seek him nor strive to get possession of him,
but if she could not imagine where and with what people
he was living, she would die of longing. She
would have allowed herself to be abused and trodden
under foot in silence, but she would not suffer herself
to be deprived of the last remnant of her maternal
rights.

Here Adrian himself entered the room; but Barbara
was by no means calmed by his appearance, and with
a fresh outburst of wrath shrieked to his face that
he might choose whether he would confide to her, the
mother, where his master was taking the child or see
her rush from here to the market place and call out
to the people what she had promised, for the boy’s
sake, to hold secret.

The valet saw that she would keep her word and, to
prevent greater mischief, he informed her that the
violinist Massi was commissioned to take her son to
Spain to rear him in his wife’s native place
until his Majesty should alter his plans concerning
him.

Page 298

This news produced a great change in the tortured
mother. With affectionate, repentant courtesy,
she thanked the Dubois couple and, when Frau Traut
saw that she was trying to rearrange her hair and dress,
she helped her, and in doing so one woman confessed
to the other what she had lost in the child.

Adrian’s yielding had pleased Barbara.
Besides, during the years of her intercourse with
Massi she had heard many things about his residence—­nay,
every member of his household—­and therefore
she could now form a picture of his future life.

So she had grown quieter, though by no means perfectly
calm.

Her husband, who must have already returned from his
journey, and had not found her at home, would scarcely
receive her pleasantly, but she cared little for that
if only he had not been anxious about her, and in his
joy at seeing her again did not clasp her tenderly
in his arms. That would have been unbearable
to-day. She would have liked it best if Massi
would really have taken her with him as her child’s
nurse to Leganes, his residence. Thereby she
would have reached the place where she thought she
belonged—­by the side of the child, in whom
she beheld everything that still rendered her life
worth living.

Nevertheless, on her way home she thought with maternal
anxiety of her two boys; but the nearer she approached
the unassuming quarter of the city where she lived
the more vividly she felt that she did not belong
there, but in the part of Brussels whence she came.

Her own home was far more richly and prettily furnished
than her old one in Red Cock Street, but it did not
yet satisfy her desires, and she did not feel content
in it. To-day a slight feeling of aversion even
came over her as she thought of it.

Perhaps the best plan would have been for her to put
an end to this misery, and, instead of returning,
make a pilgrimage to Compostella in Spain, and while
doing so try to find her John in Leganes. But
even while yielding to these thoughts Barbara felt
how sinful they were. Did not her little house
look attractive and pretty? It was certainly the
prettiest and neatest in the neighbourhood, and as
she drew nearer pleasure at the thought of seeing
her children again awoke. An unkind reception
from her husband would have been painful, after all.

But she was to receive no greeting at all from him.
Pyramus had been detained on the way. Barbara
felt this as a friendly dispensation of Providence.
But something else spoiled her return home. Conrad,
her oldest boy, two-year-old Conrad, who was already
walking about, beginning to prattle prettily, and
who could show the affection of his little heart with
such coaxing tenderness, came toward her crying, and
when she took him up rested his little burning head
against her cheek.

The little fellow’s forehead and throat were
aching.

Some illness was coming on.

The child himself asked to be put in his little bed,
the physician was summoned, and the next morning the
scarlet fever broke out.

Page 299

When the father returned, the youngest chill had also
been attacked by the same fell disease, and now a
time came when Barbara, during many an anxious hour
of the night, forgot that in distant Spain she possessed
another child for whose sake she had been ready to
rob these two dear little creatures, who so greatly
needed her, of their mother. This purpose weighed
upon her conscience like the heaviest of sins while
she was fighting against Death, which seemed to be
already stretching his hand toward the oldest boy.

When one evening the physician expressed the fear
that the child would not survive the approaching night,
she prayed with passionate fervour for his preservation,
and meanwhile it seemed as though a secret voice cried:
“Vow to the gracious Virgin not to give the Emperor’s
son a higher place in your heart than the children
of the man to whom a holy sacrament unites you!
Then you will first make yourself worthy of the dear
imperilled life in yonder little bed.”

Thrice, four times, and oftener still, Barbara raised
her hands to utter this vow, but ere she did so she
said to herself that never, never could she wholly
fulfil it, and, to save herself from a fresh sin, she
did not make it.

But with what anxiety she now gazed at the glowing
face of the fevered boy whenever the warning voice
again rose!

At midnight the little sufferer’s eyes seemed
to her to shine with a glassy look, and when, pleading
for help, he raised them to her, her heart melted,
and in fervent, silent prayer she cried to the Queen
of Heaven, “Spare me this child, make it well,
and I will not think of the Emperor’s son more
frequently nor, if I can compass it, with warmer love
than this clear creature and his little brother in
the cradle.”

Scarcely had these words died on her lips than she
again felt that she had promised more than she had
the power to perform. Yet she repeated the vow
several times.

During the whole terrible night her husband stood
beside her, obeying every sign, eagerly and skilfully
helping in many ways; and when in the morning the
doctor appeared she was firmly convinced that her vow
had saved the sick boy’s life. The crisis
was over.

Henceforth, whenever the yearning for the distant
John seized upon her with special power, she thought
of that night, and loaded the little sons near her
with tokens of the tenderest love.

On that morning of commencing convalescence her husband’s
grateful kiss pleased her.

True, during the time that followed, Pyramus succeeded
no better than before in warming his wife’s
cold heart, but Barbara omitted many things which
had formerly clouded his happiness.

Page 300

The Emperor Charles had again gone to foreign countries,
and therefore festivals and shows no longer attracted
her. She rarely allowed herself a visit to Frau
Dubois, but, above all, she talked with her boys and
about them like every other mother. It even seemed
to Pyramus as though her old affection for the Emperor
Charles was wholly dead; for when, in November of
the following year, agitated to the very depths of
his being, he brought her the tidings that the Emperor
had been surprised and almost captured at Innsbruck
by Duke Maurice of Saxony, who owed him the Elector’s
hat, and had only escaped the misfortune by a hurried
flight to Carinthia, he merely saw a smile, which
he did not know how to interpret, on her lips.
But little as Barbara said about this event, her mind
was often occupied with it.

In the first place, it recalled to her memory the
dance under the lindens at Prebrunn.

Did it not seem as if her ardent royal partner of
those days had become her avenger?

Yet it grieved her that the man whose greatness and
power it had grown a necessity for her to admire had
suffered so deep a humiliation and, as at the time
of the May festival under the Ratisbon lindens, the
sympathy of her heart belonged to him to whom she
had apparently preferred the treacherous Saxon duke.

The treaty of Passau, which soon followed his flight,
was to impose upon the monarch things scarcely less
hard to bear; for it compelled him to allow the Protestants
in Germany the free exercise of their religion, and
to release his prisoners, the Elector John Frederick
of Saxony and the Landgrave Philip of Hesse.

Whatever befell the sovereign she brought into connection
with herself. Charles’s motto had now become
unattainable for him, as since her loss of voice it
had been for her. Her heart bled unseen, and his
misfortune inflicted new wounds upon it. How
he, toward whom the whole world looked, and whose
sensitive soul endured with so much difficulty the
slightest transgression of his will and his inclination,
would recover from the destruction of the most earnest,
nay, the most sacred aspirations of a whole life,
was utterly incomprehensible to her. To restore
the unity of religion had been as warm a desire of
his heart as the cultivation of singing had been cherished
by hers, and the treaty of Passau ceded to the millions
of German Protestants the right to remain separated
from the Catholic Church. This must utterly cloud,
darken, poison his already joyless existence.
Spite of the wrong he had done her, how gladly, had
she not been lost to art, she would now have tried
upon him its elevating, consoling power!

From her old confessor, her husband, and others she
learned that Charles scarcely paid any further heed
to the political affairs of the German nation, which
had once been so important to him; and with intense
indignation she heard the fellow-countrymen whom her
husband brought to the house declare that, in her
German native land, Charles was now as bitterly hated
as he had formerly been loved and reverenced.

Page 301

The imperial crown would lapse to his brother; Ferdinand’s
son, Maximilian, now Charles’s son-in-law, was
destined to succeed his father, while the Infant Philip
must in future be content with the sovereignty of
Spain, the Netherlands, Charles’s Italian possessions,
and the New World.

For years Barbara had believed that she hated him,
but now, when the bitterest envy could have desired
nothing more cruel, with all the warmth of her passionate
heart she made his suffering her own, and it filled
her with shame and resentment against herself that
she, too, had more than once desired to see her own
downfall revenged on him.

Her soul was again drawn toward the sorely punished
man more strongly than she would have deemed possible
a short time before and, after his return to Brussels,
she gazed with an aching heart at the ashen-gray face
of the sufferer, marked by lines of deep sorrow.

Now he really did resemble a broken old man.
Barbara rarely mingled with the people, but she sometimes
went with her husband and several acquaintances outside
the gate, or heard from the few intimate friends whom
she had made, the neighbours, and the peddlers who
came to her house, with what cruel harshness the heretics
were treated.

When the monarch, it was often said, was no longer
the Charles to whom the provinces owed great benefits
and who had won many hearts, but his Spanish son,
Philip, the chains would be broken, and this shameful
bloodshed would be stopped; but her husband declared
such predictions idle boasting, and Barbara willingly
believed him because she wished that he might be right.

In the officer’s eyes all heretics deserved
death, and he agreed with Barbara that the Emperor
Charles’s wisdom took the right course in all
cases.

His son Philip was obedient to his father, and would
certainly continue to wield the sceptre according
to his wishes.

The breath of liberty, which was beginning to stir
faintly in the provinces through which he so often
travelled, could not escape Pyramus’s notice,
but he saw in it only the mutinous efforts of shameless
rebels and misguided men, who deserved punishment.
The quiet seclusion in which Barbara lived rendered
it easy to win her over to her husband’s view
of this noble movement; besides, it was directed against
the unhappy man whom she would willingly have seen
spared any fresh anxiety, and who had proved thousands
of times how much he preferred the Netherlands to any
other of his numerous kingdoms.

Hitherto Barbara had troubled herself very little
about political affairs, and her interest in them
died completely when a visitor called who threw them,
as well as everything else, wholly into the shade.

CHAPTER XIII.

Wolf Hartschwert had come to Brussels and sought Barbara.

Her husband was attending to the duties of his office
in the Rhine country when she received her former
lover. Had Pyramus been present, he might perhaps
have considered the knight a less dangerous opponent
than seven years before, for a great change had taken
place in his outer man. The boyish appearance
which at that time still clung to him had vanished
and, by constant intercourse with the Castilian nobility,
he had acquired a manly, self-assured bearing perfectly
in harmony with his age and birth.

Page 302

As he sat opposite to Barbara for the first time,
she could not avert her eyes from him and, with both
his hands clasped in hers, she let him tell her of
his journey to Brussels and his efforts to find her
in the great city. Meanwhile she scarcely heeded
the purport of his words; it was enough to feel the
influence exerted by the tone of his voice, and to
be reminded by his features and his every gesture
of something once dear to her.

He appeared like the living embodiment of the first
beautiful days of her youth, and her whole soul was
full of gratitude that he had sought her; while he,
too, had the same experience, though his former passion
had long since changed into a totally different feeling.
He thought her beautiful, but her permitting their
hands to remain clasped so long now agitated him no
more than if she had been a dear, long-absent sister.

When Barbara was told who awaited her in the sitting
roam and, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes,
clad in a light morning gown which was very becoming
to her, had hastened to greet him, his heart had indeed
throbbed faster, and it seemed as though an unexpected
Easter morning awaited the old buried love; but she
had scarcely uttered his name and exchanged a few
words of greeting in a voice which, though no longer
hoarse, still lacked melody, than the flood of newly
awakened emotions swiftly ebbed again.

She was still only half the Wawerl of former days,
whose musical voice had helped to make her the queen
of his heart. So he had soon regained the calmness
which, in Spain and on the journey here, he had expected
to test at their meeting. Even the last trace
of a deeper emotion passed away when she told him
of her husband, her children, and her gray-haired
father in Ratisbon, for the hasty, almost reluctant
manner with which this was done perplexed and displeased
him. True, he could not know that from the first
moment of their meeting her one desire had been to
obtain news of her stolen son. Everything else
appeared trivial in comparison. And what constraint
she was forced to impose upon herself when, not hearing
her cautious introductory question, he told her about
Villagarcia, his peerless mistress, Doha Magdalena
de Ulloa, and his musical success! Not until
he said that during the winter he would be occupied
in training the boy choir at Valladolid did she approach
her goal by inquiring about the welfare of the violinist
Massi.

Both he and his family were in excellent health, Wolf
replied. Rest in his little house at Leganes
seemed to have fairly rejuvenated him.

Now Barbara herself mentioned the boy whom Massi had
taken to Spain in the train of the Infant Don Philip.

How this affected Wolf!

He started, not only in surprise, but in actual alarm,
and eagerly demanded to know who had spoken to her
about this child in connection with the violinist.

Barbara now said truthfully that she had seen Massi
with her own eyes in the Infant’s train.
So beautiful a boy is not easily forgotten, and she
would be glad to hear news of him.

Page 303

Wolf, however, seemed reluctant to talk of this child.
True, he hastily remarked, he sometimes visited him
at the request of his gracious mistress, but he had
no more knowledge of his real origin than she or Dona
Magdalena de Ulloa. The latter supposed the boy
to be her husband’s child, and in her generosity
therefore interested herself doubly in the forsaken
boy, though only at a distance and through his mediation;
for his own part, he could never believe the fair-haired,
pink-and-white Geronimo to be a son of the dark-skinned,
black-eyed Don Luis. True, the stony silence
which the major-domo maintained toward all questions
concerning the lad would neither permit him to soothe
his wife nor confirm her fear. At any rate, Geronimo
must be the son of some great noble. This was
perfectly apparent from his bearing, the symmetry of
his limbs, his frank, imperious nature—­nay,
from every movement of this remarkable child.

At this assurance Barbara’s soul glowed with
proud maternal joy. Her blue eyes sparkled with
a brighter light, and the sunny, radiant glance with
which she thanked Wolf for his information exerted
an unexpected influence upon him, for he shrank back
as though the curtain which concealed a rare marvel
had been lifted and, drawing a long breath, gazed
into her beautiful, joyous face.

It seemed as if the luminous reflection of the proud,
noble, and pure delight which shone upon him from
her eyes had beamed in little Geronimo’s a few
weeks before when he rushed up to him to show his
hunting spoils, a fitchet and several birds which he
had killed with his pretty little cross-bow, a gift
from Dona Magdalena. And Barbara’s wavy
golden hair, the little dimple in her cheek! Geronimo
must be her child; this wonderful resemblance could
not deceive.

But an imperious gesture from the young wife closed
his lips; Frau Lamperi had just led her two boys,
beautifully dressed as they always were when any distinguished
visitor called upon their mother, into the room.
The expression of radiant happiness which had just
illumined her features vanished at the sight of the
little ones, and she commanded the children to be
taken away at once.

She looked so stern and resolute that her faithful
maid lacked courage to make any sign of recognising
the knight, whom she had known while she was in the
regent’s service.

When the door had closed behind the group, Barbara
again turned to her friend, and in a low tone asked,
“And suppose that you saw aright, and Geronimo
were really my child?”

“Then—­then,” Wolf faltered
in bewilderment, “then Don Luis would—­But
surely it can not be! Then, after all, Quijada
would be—­”

Here a low laugh from Barbara broke the silence, and
with dilated eyes he learned who Geronimo’s
parents were.

Page 304

Then the knight listened breathlessly to the young
mother’s account of the robbery of her child,
and how, in spite of her own boys and the vow which
she had made the Dubois couple not to follow the Emperor’s
son, she lived only in and through him.

“The Emperor Charles!” cried Wolf, as
if he now understood for the first time what he might
so easily have guessed if the fair-haired boy had not
grown up amid such extremely plain surroundings.
The belief that Geronimo owed his life to Quijada
had been inspired by Massi himself.

But while the knight was striving to accustom himself
to this wholly novel circle of ideas, Barbara, with
passionate impetuosity, clasped his right hand and
placed it on the crucifix which hung on her rosary.

Then she commanded her astonished friend to swear
to guard this secret, which was not hers alone, from
every living being.

Wolf yielded without resistance to her passionate
entreaties, but scarcely had he lowered the hand uplifted
to take the oath than he urged her at least to grant
him permission to restore Dona Magdalena’s peace
of mind; but Barbara waved her hand with resolute
denial, hastily exclaiming: “No, no, no!
Don Luis was the tool in every blow which Charles,
his master, dealt at my happiness and peace. Let
the woman who is dear to him, and who is already winning
by her gifts the child’s love, which belongs
to me, and to me alone, now feel how the heart of one
who is deceived can ache.”

Here, deeply wounded, Wolf burst into a complaint
of the harshness and injustice of such vengeance;
but Barbara insisted so defiantly upon her will that
he urged her no further, and seized his hat to retire.

Deep resentment had taken possession of him.
This misguided woman, embittered by misfortune, possessed
the power of rendering the greatest benefit to one
infinitely her superior in nobility of soul, and with
cruel defiance she refused it.

His whole heart was full of gratitude and love for
Dona Magdalena, who by her unvarying kindness and
elevating example had healed his wounded soul, and
no ignoble wish had sullied this great and deep affection.
Although for years he had devoted to her all the ability
and good will which he possessed, he still felt deeply
in her debt and, now that the first opportunity of
rendering her a great service presented itself, he
was deprived of the possibility of doing it by the
woman who had already destroyed the happiness of his
youth.

So bitter was the resentment which filled his soul
that he could not bring himself to seek her on the
following day; but she awaited him with the sorrowful
fear that she had saddened the return of her best and
truest friend. Besides, she was now beginning
to be tortured by the consciousness of having broken
or badly fulfilled the vow by which she had won from
the Holy Virgin the life of her sick Conrad. Why
had she sent her boys away the day before, instead
of showing them to the friend of her youth with maternal

Page 305

joy? because her heart had been full of the image
of the other, whose rare beauty and patrician bearing
Wolf had so enthusiastically described. True,
her pair of little boys would not have borne comparison
with the Emperor’s son, yet they were both good,
well-formed children, and clung to her with filial
affection. Why could she not even now, when Heaven
itself forced her to be content, free herself from
the fatal imperial “More, farther,” which,
both for the monarch and for her, had lost its power
to command and to promise?

When, on the evening after Wolf’s visit, she
bent over the children sleeping in their little bed,
she felt as a nurse may who comes from a patient who
has succumbed to a contagious disease and now fears
communicating it to her new charge. Suppose that
the gracious intercessor should punish her broken
vow by raising her hand against the children sleeping
there? This dread seized the guilty mother with
irresistible power, and she wondered that the cheeks
of the little sleepers were not already glowing with
fever.

She threw herself penitently on her knees before the
priedieu, and the first atonement to be made for the
broken vow was apparent. She must allow Wolf
to restore peace to Dona Magdalena’s troubled
mind. This was not easy, for she had cherished
her resentment against this woman’s husband,
through whom she had experienced bitter suffering,
for many years. His much-lauded wife herself
was a stranger to her, yet she could not think of
her except with secret dislike; it seemed as if a woman
who bore the separation from the man she loved so
patiently, and yet won all hearts, must go through
life—­unless she was a hypocrite—­with
cold fish blood.

Besides——­

What right had this lady to the boy to whom Barbara
gave birth, whose love would now be hers had it not
been wrested from her? What was denied to her
would be lavished upon this favoured woman, and when
she bestowed gifts upon the glorious child for whom
every pulse of her being longed, and repaid his love
with love, it was regarded as a fresh proof of her
noble kindness of heart. To withhold from this
woman something which would give her fresh happiness
and relieve her of sorrow might have afforded her
a certain satisfaction. To bless those who curse
and despitefully use us was certainly the hardest
command; but on the priedieu she vowed to the Virgin
to fulfil it, and in a calmer mood than before she
bent over the boys to kiss them.

The next day glided by in painful anxiety, for Wolf
did not return. The following morning and afternoon
also passed without bringing him. Not until the
rays of the setting sun were forcing their way through
the pinks and rose bushes with which Pyramus kept
her window adorned throughout the year, because she
loved flowers, and the vesper bells were chiming,
did her friend return.

This time she had dressed her boys with her own hands,
and when, through the door which separated her from
the entry, she heard Wolf greet them with merry words,
her heart grew lighter, and the swift thanksgiving
which she uttered blended with the dying notes of the
bells.

Page 306

Leading Conrad by the hand, and carrying the three-year-old
youngest boy in his arms, Wolf entered the room.

The child of a former love easily wins its way to
the heart of the man who has been obliged to resign
her. Wolf’s eyes showed that he was pleased
with Barbara’s merry lads, and she thanked him
for it by the warmest reception.

Not until after he had said many a pleasant word to
her about the little boys, and jested with them in
the manner of one who loves children, did he resume
his grave manner and confess that he could not make
up his mind to leave Barbara without a farewell.
He was glad to find her in the possession of such
treasures, but his time was limited, and he must,
unfortunately, content himself with this last brief
meeting.

While speaking, he rose to leave her; but she stopped
him, saying in a low tone: “Surely you
know me, Wolf, and are aware that I do not always
persist in the resolves to which my hasty temper urges
me. It shall not be my fault if the peace of
your Dona Magdalena’s soul remains clouded longer,
and so I release you from your vow so far as she is
concerned.”

Then, for the first time since their meeting, the
familiar, pleasant “Wawerl” greeted her,
and with tearful eyes she clasped his outstretched
hands.

Wolf had just told her that his time was short; but
now he willingly allowed himself to be persuaded to
put down his sword and hat, and when Frau Lamperi
brought in some refreshments, he recognised her, and
asked her several pleasant questions.

It seemed as though Barbara’s change of mood
had overthrown the barrier which her stern refusal
had raised between them. Calm and cheerful as
in former days he sat before her, listening while,
in obedience to his invitation, she told him, with
many a palliation and evasion, about her married life
and the children. She made her story short, in
order at last to hear some further particulars concerning
the welfare of her distant son.

What Wolf related of the outward appearance of her
John, to whose new name, Geronimo, she gradually became
accustomed, Barbara could complete from her vivid
recollection of this rare child. He had remained
strong and healthy, and the violinist Massi, his good
wife, and their daughter loved the little fellow and
cared for him as if he were their own son and brother.

The musician, it is true, lived plainly enough, but
there was no want of anything in the modest country
house with the gay little flower garden. Nor
did the boy lack playmates, though they were only the
children of the farmers and townspeople of Leganes.
Clad but little better than they, he shared their
merry, often rough games. Geronimo called the
violinist and his wife father and mother.

Page 307

Then Barbara desired a more minute description of
his dress, and when Wolf, laughing, confessed that
he wore a cap only when he went to church, and on
hot summer days he had even met him barefoot, she clasped
her hands in astonishment and dismay. Not until
her friend assured her that among the thin, dark-haired
Spaniards, with their close-cropped heads and flashing
black eyes, he, with his fluttering golden curls and
free, graceful movements, looked like a white swan
among dark-plumaged ducks, did she raise her head
with a contented expression, and the sunny glance
peculiar to her again reminded her friend of the Emperor’s
son.

His lofty brow, Wolf said, he had inherited from his
father, and his mind was certainly bright; but what
could be predicted with any certainty concerning the
intellectual powers of a boy scarcely seven years old?
The pastor Bautista Bela was training him to piety.
The sacristan Francisco Fernandez ought to have begun
to teach him to read a year ago; but until now Geronimo
had always run away, and when he, Wolf, asked the worthy
old man, at Dona Magdalena’s request, whether
he would undertake to instruct him in the rudiments
of Latin, as well as in reading and writing, he shook
his head doubtfully.

Here a smile hovered around the speaker’s lips,
and, as if some amusing recollection rose in his mind,
he went on gaily: “He’s a queer old
fellow, and when I repeated my question, he put his
finger against his nose, saying: ’Whoever
supposes I could teach a young romper like that anything
but keeping quiet, is mistaken. Why? Because
I know nothing myself.’ Then the old man
reflected, and added, ’But—­I shall
not even succeed in keeping this one quiet, because
he is so much swifter than I.”

“And is the Emperor Charles satisfied with such
a teacher for his son?” asked Barbara indignantly.

“Massi had described the sacristan to Don Luis
as a learned man,” replied Wolf. “But
I have now told his Majesty of a better one.”

“Then you have talked to the Emperor?”
asked Barbara, blushing.

Her friend nodded assent, and said mournfully:
“My heart still aches when I recall the meeting.
O Wawerl! what a man he was when, like a fool, I persuaded
him in Ratisbon to hear you sing, and how he looked
yesterday!”

“It can scarcely be described,” Wolf answered,
as if under the spell of a painful memory. “He
could hardly hold himself up, even in the arm-chair
in which he sat. The lower part of his face seems
withered, and the upper-even the beautiful lofty brow—­is
furrowed by deep wrinkles. At every third word
his breath fails. One of his diseases, Dr. Mathys
says, would be enough to kill any other man, and he
has more than there are fingers on the hand.
Besides, even now he will not take advice, but eats
and drinks whatever suits his taste.”

Barbara shook her head angrily; but Wolf, noticing
it, said: “He is the sovereign, and who
would venture to withhold anything on which his will
is set? But his desires are shrivelling like his
face and his body.”

Page 308

“Is the man of the ‘More, farther,’
also learning to be content?” asked Barbara
anxiously. Wolf rose, answering firmly: “No,
certainly not! His eyes still sparkle as brightly
in his haggard face as if he had by no means given
up the old motto. True, Don Luis declares that
rest is the one thing for which he longs, and you
will see that he knows how to obtain it; but what
he means by it only contains fresh conflicts and struggles.
His ‘Plus ultra’ had rendered him the greatest
of living men; now he desires to become the least
of the least, because the Lord promises to make the
last the first. I was received by the regent like
a friend. She confided to me that he often repeats
the Saviour’s words, ‘Go, sell all that
thou halt, and follow me.’ He is determined
to cast aside throne, sceptre, and purple, power and
splendour, and Don Luis believes that he will know
how to gratify this desire, like every other.
What a resolution! But there are special motives
concealed beneath it. Nothing but death can bring
repose to this restless spirit, and if he finds the
quiet for which he longs, what tasks he will set himself!
Don Philip promises, as an obedient son, to continue
to wield the sceptre according to the policy of the
father who intrusts it to him.”

“And then?” asked Barbara eagerly.

“Then will begin the life in the imitation of
Christ, which hovers before him.”

“Here in the Brabant palace?” interposed
Barbara incredulously. “Here, where his
neighbours, the brilliant nobles, enjoy life in noisy
magnificence; here, among the ambassadors, the thousand
rumours from the Netherlands, Italy, and Spain; here,
where the battle against the heretical and liberty-loving
yearnings of the citizens never ceases—­how
can he hope to find peace and composure here?”

“He is far from it,” Wolf eagerly interrupted.
“’Farewell till we meet again at no distant
day upon Spanish soil!’ were the parting words
of my gracious mistress. Will you pr